


If You Must

by left_and_write



Series: All That We Are [2]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Drama & Romance, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Magic, Post-Watford (Simon Snow), Romantic Fluff, Sequel, Sweet, Watford (Simon Snow), Wedding Fluff, Wedding Night, Wedding Planning, Weddings, rainbow rowell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-02-08 17:55:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 50
Words: 30,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18628318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/left_and_write/pseuds/left_and_write
Summary: {SEQUEL TO ALL THAT WE ARE}Baz's cast is finally off, and we all know what that means... wedding time! Our favorite couple must navigate all the craziness that getting married entails: shopping for rings, planning the ceremony, figuring out where the bloody hell they'll live... it's all well and good until they realize something isn't quite right. Fluffy, romantic, and just a lil' bit angsty, this sequel will be the fairytale ending for the fairytale couple... that is, if they can make it through without losing their minds.{Can also be found on my Wattpad account, @hi-its-lefty}





	1. All That We Are is Ready.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sequel to a fic I wrote called All That We Are. Though this one will probably be comprehensible without having read that fic, it will make a lot more sense if you've read the first one.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> \- Lefty

**_Simon_ **

"Yes! _Yes, Baz!_ " A sheen of sweat covers Baz's pale arms as he lowers himself down, those wicked sharp canines bared in a growl. His hair is pulled back in a ponytail, loose strands sticking to the sweat on his neck.

" _Simon_..." He pants, the muscles in his back and shoulders bunching up. Crowley, it's _sexy._

"Go, go, _go! Right there!_ " I urge, not tearing my eyes  away from him. Baz's arms begin to shake as he gets lower, lower...

And then pushes himself back up, finishing his last push-up.

I let out a cheer and tackle him in a hug, kissing his damp cheek. It's his last day of physical therapy for his arm; a day we've been waiting for for _months._ All that's left of the injury given to him by the Enenra is a splotchy, pale scar about the size of my palm (and newly well-muscled arms, which are an added bonus). Most days, I'll do his exercises with him, but today... today is Baz's. His victory. I'm just here for moral support-- to see him through to the end.

Baz lets out a breathy laugh, sagging against the floor. I don't let go of him.

"I did it," He breathes incredulously. Grinning, I squeeze his hand.

"I always knew you would. And now that you're finally done... you know what that means..." I feel my cheeks heat up, my heart pounding wildly against my sternum. I wonder if he can hear it. Wonder if he's as excited as I am for the change our lives are about to undertake.

"Ice cream?" He asks hopefully. Laughing, I cuff him over the head.

"You're a twat, Basilton," I reply.

He knows what I meant. Now that he's done with physical therapy (and therefore no longer using a sling or a brace for his arm), we can finally ( _finally_ ) get on with our wedding. We haven't even really started planning it yet-- I didn't want him to feel too rushed with his arm and hurt himself again. But now his arm is back to normal, and we don't have to wait any longer.

"What," Baz fake-pouts, "You don't want ice cream?" I cross my arms, glaring down at him while trying not to laugh. He glares right back up at me, mirth sparkling in those quicksilver eyes.

He wins the staring contest.

" _Fine_ ," I admit, grinning from ear to ear, "I want ice cream. Get up, you git." Chuckling, Baz stands up, reaching behind him for his shirt. Then he leans in close to me, lips brushing just below my ear. The warmth of his breath against my skin sends shivers up my spine.

"You're paying," He whispers. Before I can react, Baz runs off in the direction of the locker rooms.

_Twat_.

 

 


	2. All That We Are is Languid.

**_Baz_ **

Simon tastes like chocolate when I kiss him. The day is warm, the air heavy and perfumed with the smells of flowers and ice cream. Liquid, golden sunlight reflects off of the low wood ceiling, setting Si's skin afire-- soft, amber fire. Conversations float lethargically through the air, mixing like so many symphonies.

In this moment, with Simon's lips sultry and sweet against mine, with the music of the warm afternoon drifting around us, the reality of our lives hits me full-force.

We're going to get _married_. I'm going to _marry_ Simon bloody Snow.

My mother died in front of my eyes. I got bitten by a fucking _vampire_. I've wished I was dead since I was fifteen-- when I was eighteen, I nearly burnt down an entire forest just to get that wish. And then Simon happened. And now I get moments like these; moments I never even thought I would be _alive_ to witness. I get golden afternoons. I get to marry the love of my life. I get to live with him until we're too old and grey to remember our own names. I get to _live_. In all my years of wrongdoing, I must've done something right to deserve all this.

"I love you, Simon," I tell him, pulling away to look into those pretty blue eyes. He smiles at me, and my heart pounds wildly against my ribcage. Slowly, softly, he drags one knuckle down my jaw, then brushes it along my arm, right over my scar.

"You know, I'm not _actually_ miffed about paying for the ice cream, if that's what you're playing at," he teases. The corner of my lips quirk up, laughter rumbling in my chest.

"Here I was, trying to be all romantic... and you're just focused on your food."

"As usual," he confirms, leaning forward to kiss my cheek.

"As usual," I agree, turning my head to catch those chocolate-flavoured lips once more.

Before the kiss can grow into anything but a chaste peck, my mobile rings. Stifling a groan (and opting for a sneer), I pick it up.

"Bunce," I say into the receiver.

"You don't sound very happy for someone who just finished physical therapy. Did they hold you back for bad behaviour?" Bunce chirrups back at me.

"Ha-bloody-ha, very funny. What do you want, Bunce?"

"You know, Baz, I can make this whole 'sister-in-law' thing easy or hard--" Snow is shaking with silent laughter, clutching onto my good arm for support.

"Bunce!" I cut her off, repressing laughter of my own.

"Fine, fine! You're no fun, BP." My brow wrinkles in confusion. I know I shouldn't rise to the bait, but... fuck it all, she knows I won't be able to resist asking.

"...BP?" I ask reluctantly. I can hear Penelope laughing. It sounds muffled, like she's got her hand over the mouthpiece.

"Short for Baz Pitch, dumbass." Simon howls, doubling over. I press my face into my palm.

"I am going to set you on fire, Bunce."

"Killjoy."

"What do you _want_?" It's difficult to sound properly exasperated when I'm trying so hard not to laugh (I have a reputation to upkeep).

"Nothing! I have a surprise for you boys at home. That's all. Once you've finished mucking about or whatever it is you're doing, you should come by the flat."

"Fuck off Bunce," I tell her (lovingly, of course).

"See you there, then!" I can practically hear her grinning as she hangs up. Rolling my eyes, I drop the mobile into my lap, turning to face Simon. He beams at me, mirth still dancing in his eyes.

"What are you grinning at, you traitor?" I tease, smiling back at him. He bats his eyelashes at me mockingly.

"I'm going to call you BP for the rest of your life," comes his singsong reply. Groaning, I drop my face into my hands.

"I'm going to pack my bags and skip country. But first, I'm setting fire to Bunce," I grumble. My ridiculous fiancé wraps his arms tightly around my shoulders, pressing kisses to the crown of my head.

"Aw, don't do that. I'd miss your pretty face," he says between kisses. I uncover one eye to look up at him.

"Anything else you'd miss?" I ask. Si smirks at me (I'm so proud-- I'm the one who taught him how to properly smirk).

"A few things..." His voice drops to a deep whisper, sending shivers up my spine. I quirk an eyebrow at him.

"Such as?" Playing dumb is fun with Simon. It draws him out of his shell and makes him say things that could make a vampire blush (and I should know). He knows I'm only playing-- this is just him joining in the game.

"For one--"

"Are you using this chair?" Someone asks from behind me, interrupting Simon. We both look up, more than a little surprised.

A woman and her child stand behind me, each holding drippy, sloppy ice cream cones. They look at us expectantly. Shaking myself out of my Snow-induced haze, I smile at them, carefully hiding my eyeteeth.

"No, we're not using it. Go ahead." With a nod, the woman takes the empty chair at our table and drags it to a different one. I watch her go, making sure she's out of earshot before I turn back to Si. Dying to know what he was about to say.

He's smiling softly in the direction of the woman and her child. Those nimble, golden fingers fiddle subconsciously with the ring on his left hand. Part of me wonders what he's thinking about. The other part of me is content to sit and look at him, regardless of his thoughts.

Slowly, those eyes drag back to mine, the smile never faltering. I can't help but offer up a smile of my own in return. Leaning forward, Simon presses a gentle kiss to my forehead.

"We should get back to the flat before Penny has an aneurysm. I'll go pay."

Before I can object, he's gone. Walking towards the register with long, lazy strides. Hips loose and easy. Broad shoulders back and perfect. Beautiful, in every sense of the word. Smiling, I watch him walk, wondering what in the world he was thinking about. What in the world changed the conversation from racy to utterly loving in a matter of seconds. Then again, I don't completely care; I love both (and all) sides of him. My sexy, amorous Simon. My gentle, caressing Simon.

My Simon.

 

 


	3. All That We Are is Triumphant.

**_Simon_ **

I dunno what Penny's got planned, but I doubt it'll top the rest of my day so far. Even so, I can't wait.

Before today, I've been fine with waiting. I spent monthswaiting for Baz to get well again, and I was perfectly alright with that. Now, I feel completely restless. _Hungry_ , almost. Impatient. For the wedding. For _him_. I want him desperately, and it's consuming me from the inside out. As we drive back to the flat, golden magic shimmers at my fingertips like a mirage.

Once we get inside, I think for a moment that the flat's empty. Penny's not in the sitting room, and I can't hear anything from the kitchen or either of the bedrooms. Maybe she's forgotten her promise of a surprise? It's not like Penny to forget things (though if she _has_ forgotten, that means Baz and I have the flat all to ourselves...).

"Bunce?" Baz calls out, kicking off his sneakers. I do the same, leaning on him so I don't fall over while I pull off my shoes (it's happened before)(multiple times).

A soft clatter sounds from the kitchen. That must be where Penny is ** _-_** unless we've got ourselves a burglar.

"Penny?" I shout, unbuttoning my coat.

"In here!" She replies from the kitchen. Not a burglar then. Baz and I start to make our way towards her.

She sits on the table, a bottle of champagne in each hand. Her familiar face sparkles with a brilliant grin.

"Congratulations on graduating from hell, Basil!" She cheers. Baz smiles at her.

"Thanks, Bunce, you really know how to make a boy blush," he teases in reply. Penny winks at him, then turns to me, an impish gleam in her eye (believe me, I've fought imps before-- they're nasty)(and seem to have some weird sort of fetish for corn chips)(but that's a different story).

"Do you reckon we should share with Simon?" she asks. Baz turns to face me, flashing me a debonair grin that sends shivers up my spine. A few golden sparks hiss off of my fingertips (I think Baz sees; that grin turns purely deviant).

"I suppose we could share..." he concedes, with one of those trademark sneers.

"You'd better," I warn good-naturedly, "I won't let you hear the end of it if you don't." Let him make what he will of that. To my utter delight, Baz blushes (as much as a vampire can blush).

"All right, enough flirting you too. Why flirt when you can drink?" Penny intercedes. I laugh, and a deep chuckle rumbles from Baz.

"You've just described my entire adolescence in one sentence, Bunce."

"Glad to be of assistance." Penny pours us flutes of the sparkling golden wine. I've never really had champagne-- none nice enough to taste like much more than carbon-infused white wine. This stuff, however... it's like tasting my new magic. Golden and light and effervescent. I quite like it.

The three of us finish off the first bottle before anyone says anything worth much thought. When the lazy conversation drifts to an end, Penny voices what's obviously been on her mind all day.

"So, when are we going to start planning?" She asks, her glass halfway to her lips. Baz and I exchange a look.

"Tomorrow, I suppose..." Baz conjectures. I shake my head, setting down my nearly-empty flute of liquid magic.

"No, let's not start tomorrow." Penny raises her eyebrows, and Baz lowers his, looking mildly offended. I raise my hands in surrender. "No, this isn't a bad idea, hear me out. Today's Friday, yeah? Let's wait the weekend, and start all the plotting on Monday. Give us a bit of time to breathe-- I mean, Baz only just finished physical therapy."

My fiancé's face softens, all signs of hurt leaving it.

"That's a good idea, Si. Let's wait the weekend," he agrees, placing his hand over mine. I intertwine our fingers, squeezing his hand. Penny snorts.

"Have it your way, then. If it were _my_ wedding, I'd want to start planning right away." I grin at her.

"Speaking of which, when are you going to propose to Micah?" I tease, knowing it'll hit a nerve. Penny's cheeks immediately blaze, and she scowls at me.

"Anytime I feel like it, thank you very much." Baz laughs, and I raise my glass in a toast.

"Well, then, I propose a toast. To finding our someones, yeah?" They raise their glasses, grinning (slightly drunkenly).

"To finding our someones."

\---

Baz takes me to his flat for the night.

As I'm rinsing the toothpaste out of my mouth, he comes up behind me, wrapping those pale arms around my waist. His new scar gleams paper-white in the fluorescent lighting. His lips brush against the back of my neck, softer than a breath of wind. I lean into him, closing my eyes.

"You never did answer me..." He murmurs. Those cold fingers slip beneath the hem of my shirt, making me shiver.

"About what?" I still don't open my eyes, savouring the feeling of his skin against mine.

"What you'd miss, other than my 'pretty face'..." His voice is practically a purr. Crowley, how does he do that? I feel as if my every molecule has been set aflame.

A smirk settles on my lips, and I turn in his arms so we're chest-to-chest. So I've got him right where I want him. Slowly-- agonisingly slowly-- I kiss him. At first, it's more of a question-- an invitation to play. And then... well, and then he silently says yes, jutting his chin into mine, and things get a lot more interesting.

Too soon, I pull away, trailing my fingers through his hair. Letting my lips drift down his jaw and onto the smooth skin of his neck, just below his ear. When I was younger, I wondered if the only reason why Baz grew his hair out long was to hide the bite marks I'd imagined were right here. But no, the skin is perfectly smooth and milky pale. Unblemished.

"I'd miss your lips," I murmur against his skin. Baz's neck arches, his hands tightening around my waist.

"And?" He breathes. Aleister fucking Crowley, how did _I_ manage to end up with someone as hot as him? (Though I suppose that, being a vampire, he's _technically_ cold, not hot).

"Your shoulders." I tug aside the collar of his pyjamas to kiss the body part in question. One hand  pushes through my hair in response.

"And?" Oh, yes, I am _very_ much enjoying this game.

"And a few other things..." I finally pull away, looking him in the eye. There's a hungry, deviant glare there, turning the grey to shining chrome.

"Show me," he whispers, cupping my face in his hands, "Show me."

 

 


	4. All That We Are is Apart.

**_Penelope_ **

I call Micah after the two bozos leave, sitting in Simon's usual spot on the couch.

"Hello?" He picks up after the first ring. I smile at that deep, rich voice.

"Hi, Micah," I answer.

"Everything good?" I nod, even though he can't see me. Nicks and Slick, I miss him.

"Yeah-- _yeah_ , actually. Everything's really good here. Baz finished physical therapy today, and he and Simon are going to start planning their wedding on Monday." I readjust my position on the couch, letting my head hang off the arm. I like the way our apartment looks upside-down (even if this is an incredibly Simon Snow-esque thing to do).

"That's great!" I can hear the smile in his voice. Closing my eyes, I let myself picture that smile. I don't let myself picture him like this very often-- after a while, it becomes pointless. It's like I wear out his image by going over it again and again, until all I'm left with is a ache in my chest. (Simon told me last year that he used to do that with Watford, and that he would only let himself think of all the things he missed while he was on the train back to school).

But today... I'll make an exception. Just for today.

"Do you want me to fly over there to help out?" He continues. I sit up, a grin slowly spreading across my cheeks.

"I would love that," I reply happily. I feel like there's a balloon in my chest, swelling and swelling until I can hardly breathe-- can hardly think anything but his name.

"I can't leave work until next Wednesday, is that all right?" Micah is helping with his dad's Magickal medical clinic in America, acting as a secretary/nurse super-hybrid.

"Yes! That's perfect. And Micah?"

"Yes, Penny?" His voice is so soft, it makes me wish I could find a teleportation spell.

"I have something important to talk to you about when you get here." All this craziness with Simon and Baz's wedding has made me think. About Micah. About marriage. About finding a good time-stopping spell.

"Oh?" He asks slowly. Like he's figured out all my plans. "Can you give me a clue?" I close my eyes again, smiling.

"Mmm... Nope. You'll have to work it out all by yourself," I tease. Micah chuckles.

"You're mean," he mock-pouts.

"Thank you for the complement, my dear," I shoot back. Something rustles on Micah's end, like he's sitting down.

"Hey Penny?" His voice is more serious now. Not a bad kind of serious. Just... thoughtful.

"Yes, Micah?"

"I miss you," he murmurs. Aleister fucking Crowley. Aleister Crowley and Merlin and Morgana. That little balloon in my chest is choking off all of my air, threatening to explode.

"I miss you, too," I whisper back.

"What time is it over there?" I glance at the watch on my wrist.

"About 8:00."

"I should probably go, then. Let you eat and sleep and all that." I shake my head, clutching the phone more tightly.

"No, Micah. Just..." I hear him go completely still.

"Yes, Penny?" His voice is a deep whisper that sends invisible fingers drifting down my spine.

"Just... stay." He stays silent for a moment, and I wonder if he's hung up. Just as I'm about to pull my mobile away from my ear to press the 'end call' button, he replies,

"Okay."

 


	5. All That We Are is Awake.

**_Simon_ **

I'm in the middle of my usual nightmare (utterly paralysed, staring at the bloodied face of the Mage, who looks exactly as he did after I murdered him) when a soft sound drags me awake. Someone's whimpering-- _Baz_.

Opening my eyes, I rest a hand on his shoulder, curling myself over him.

"Baz," I whisper, giving him a gentle shake. "Wake up, love, it's just a nightmare." He doesn't wake up. The whimpers turn into nearly cohesive words, and his face is contorted in something akin to pain.

" _Baz_ ," I say, more urgently this time. With a short, wild shout, Baz sits bolt upright. I barely pull my head out of the way in time, and I can feel the air move as he shoots awake.

A sheen of sweat glistens on his skin. Those leanly muscled shoulders rise and fall with his too-quick breaths. Black overtakes nearly all of the grey in his eyes. His white, shaking hands grip the sheets like a vice.

"Baz!" I cry out, reaching for him. Panic and worry swirl sickeningly in my gut. Before I can touch him, he leans over the side of the bed, body contorting and twisting as he violently dry-heaves over the side. The hyperventilating breaths turn into heavy sobs. Quickly, I scramble across the bed until I'm perched by his side, one hand rubbing his back, the other holding back his hair in case he's actually sick.

"Hey. _Hey_. You're okay, you're okay. I'm right here, I've got you. No one can hurt you now," I murmur.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry," He's repeating between laboured breaths. The heaving is slowly subsiding, leaving him pale and shuddering with sobs beneath my hands.

"You've nothing to be sorry for, Baz. Just breathe, you're gonna be okay... I've got you." Gently, I pull him against my chest, stroking his hair.

"I've got you," I repeat. Baz just buries his head in the crook of my neck, his tears cold and wet against my skin.

I hold him like this for I don't know how long, just slowly pulling my fingers through his night-soft hair. After a while, his tears gradually fade, leaving only the occasional hiccup.

"Do you need anything?" I ask, once he's settled down. Black hair tickles my chin as he shakes his head.

"No... just... just hold me a little while longer." There's a tremble in Baz's voice that breaks my heart.

"Of course."

We fall asleep like this, cradled against each other.

 

 


	6. All That We Are is Worried.

**_Simon_ **

Baz is gone when I wake up. The only sign that he was ever there are the rumpled, caved-in sheets on his side of the bed, and a little yellow note on his pillow that says ' _back soon_ '.

I let out a sigh, rolling onto my back. One hand is crinkling and smoothing his note, while the other runs restlessly through my knotted hair. I'm not worried about where he's gone-- I _know_ where he is. It's the same place he always goes; a small, bright little music shop where he first started lessons. It's only a few streets south of here, and there are always practice rooms open. It's where he goes when he's got something on his chest he's not ready to talk to me about. Baz'll spend a few hours playing violin, working off steam, and then he'll come back home, acting _almost_ back to normal. Sometimes he's feeling good enough to talk to me about what's bothering him, sometimes he isn't. I can't help but wonder what this time will be.

So no, I'm not worried that he's off in some dark alleyway, being coerced into buying drugs, or being attacked by a mad Chimaera. But I _am_ worried about him. Ever since the Enenra took him, his already-horrible night-terrors have gotten worse. Then again, so have mine.

This is a new game we're playing; a new little dance. Every night we go to bed wondering which one of us will wake up screaming and thrashing about. Some nights, it's both of us. On a very rare occasion, we'll both sleep soundly through the night. I don't know what we'll do if we ever adopt kids-- then we'd _never_ sleep.

Sighing again, I grab my mobile and text him.

_'Call me if you need anything.'_

And then,

_'I love you. Don't do anything I wouldn't do.'_

I wait a few minutes, but Baz doesn't text back. He never does, when he's like this.

Closing my eyes and dropping my phone, I curl back into the blankets, hoping to get some more sleep (between Baz's nightmare and... well, _other_ things, neither of us got more than four hours).

"Come home safe to me," I whisper, as if Baz could hear me. I try pushing magic into the words.

" ** _Come home safe to me_**." The spell feels more like a blessing-- a promise-- than a command. I just hope it does whatever it is Baz needs it to do.

The magic pushes me over some sort of edge, and before I can form another thought, I am asleep.

 


	7. All That We Are is Music.

**** **_Baz_ **

I play violin until my fingertips are raw.

I play violin until my bow arm screams, feeling like it's about to fall off at the shoulder.

I play violin until I'm choking on rosin dust.

I play violin until there's nothing in my head but endless sonatas and concertos and arias and etudes and airs and music, music, _music._

I play violin until I cease to exist.

\---

Simon's in the shower when I get home.

I set my case down behind the couch, kicking off my shoes as I do so (I left in such a hurry I didn't bother with a coat)(the day's warm enough that I don't need one anyway). I think about eating (I didn't have any breakfast), but then decide against it. My stomach is still in knots from last night. Eating's overrated, anyway.

"Simon?" I call out, wandering into the bedroom and knocking on the door into the bathroom.

"Hey, Baz," he replies, voice echoing and disjointed over the noise of the shower. I push the door open, then lean one shoulder (the one that doesn't ache from endless music-playing) on the doorframe, crossing my arms.

"You alright?" Simon asks, poking his (soggy) head out of the shower (which is completely pointless, because I can see him just fine through the glass)(my adorable fucking idiot). Those blue eyes shine out from under his mop of wet hair like twin diamonds. I nod once, trying to act nonchalant.

"Yeah. Violin helped."

"It always does. Do you want to talk about it? Your nightmare?" There's worry laced in the breezy tone of his voice. The thought of my nightmare has me repressing a shudder. Biting my lip, I avoid his eyes.

"Maybe... later. After breakfast." Simon nods, sticking his head back under the water. I watch him, my eyes travelling along all of his smooth curves and sharp edges and freckled skin.  He catches me staring and grins lazily at me over his shoulder.

"Are you going to stand there the whole time?" He teases. I smirk at him (the normalcy of the action makes me feel a bit better).

"Yes," I reply simply, not moving an inch.

"Baz, I'm in the shower." He's practically giggling, and it's just so fucking _adorable_ I can hardly stand it.

"Your point being?" I drawl, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm naked." I have to repress a snort.

"Simon Snow, I've literally held you naked in my arms. So I repeat: what is your point?" Simon blushes, looking a little flustered.

"Well, I... would you rather join me?" Bright blue eyes meet my gaze, sending a shock through me.

I lean my head lazily against the doorframe.

"Mmm... no, I took a shower before I left." Simon puts a soapy hand on his hip.

"So you're just gonna stand there?"

"I can leave if you'd like," I offer, only half-joking. He shakes his head vehemently.

"No, no. Don't leave."

"Okay. I'll just continue to enjoy the view, then," I reply, starting to gain back some of my usual confidence.

"You sure you don't want to join?"

"Yep. Carry on."  I meander over to the counter by the sink, perching on it and crossing my ankles. Simon watches me, then shrugs.

"Your loss."

I nod, leaning my back wearily against the mirror. In reality, I just wanted someplace to rest a moment without being far from him. Flirting just makes that easier to ask for-- and I think he knows that, because some of the concern flits back onto his golden face.

"If you could see yourself, Snow, you wouldn't say such things."

That shuts him up. 

\---

I only remember closing my eyes for a second, but I must have drifted off, because when I open them again I'm tucked under a blanket on the couch. Judging by how fucking wavy and frizzy my hair's gotten, I fell asleep before Simon got out of the shower.

With a soft groan, I sit up, stretching out my aching arms. The smell of food wafts over to me from the kitchen (Simon Snow knows how to properly cook exactly three things: eggs, toast, and sausages)(everything else ends up either all over the kitchen or burnt to all nine circles of hell). Draping the blanket around my shoulders, I pad into the kitchen.

"How long was I asleep, Si?" I ask, coming up behind him and wrapping my arms about his waist. He turns towards me just enough to kiss my cheek, then goes back to watching the eggs crackling and sizzling in the pan.

"Half an hour. You hardly slept at all last night, so I figured I should let you nap," he replies. I nod, pressing my lips to the back of his neck.

"Thank you." I put all my thanks for last night as well as for the nap into the two short words. Simon seems to understand.

"You don't have to thank me, Baz," he says softly, scooping the eggs onto two plates.

"I know, but... thank you, Simon." The other boy puts down his spatula, turning in my arms so we're chest-to-chest. He has to look up a little to meet my gaze (our height difference is still one of my favourite parts of being with Simon Snow).

"Do you want to talk?" He asks gently, tilting up his chin to brush his lips against mine. I close my eyes, savouring the short kiss.

"Yeah." The word comes out as the barest whisper.

We sit down at the table, and Simon hands me my plate of food. I take a small bite, covering my mouth while I chew (out of habit).

"You know it's never the same thing twice, like your nightmares," I murmur after swallowing. Something deep in my stomach won't let me meet his gaze. I hear him nod, but wait a moment before continuing, pushing my food around my plate with my fork.

"Well, this time... I was stuck under its spell again-- under the Enenra's spell. Floating in that awful dark..." I shudder, closing my eyes. Simon reaches across the table to grip my hand. "It was just like how it really happened, except... except you never came. And that... that _monster_ didn't stop at my nose and my arm. It kept breaking every bone... and it wouldn't--" my voice breaks off. I can't say any more. It's just too much. The whole ordeal was bad enough when it really happened, but to have to relive it-- to relive it, and to make it _worse_... it's just too much.

"Basilton, look at me," Simon urges gently. The sound of all three syllables of my name on his lips sends a short, sharp thrill through my chest (he says my name like it's magic). After a moment's hesitation, I do as he asks.

"Yes?" I breathe out. He squeezes my hand.

"I'm here-- I'll always be here, right by your side. I'll always love you, I'll always protect you, no matter what, as best as I can."

This is why I love Simon Snow. Because this isn't a stupid, cliché "I'll never let anything anything hurt you again". Because he's not saying everything will be okay. Because he's admitting our faults-- the fact that we can't always be in the right place at the right time, keeping one another in little bubbles. All he's promising to do is his best, and his best is all I'll ever need.

 

 


	8. All That We Are is Revealed.

**_Baz_ **

I drive to my father's house that afternoon to tell him and Daphne about the engagement. Simon wanted to come along, but I said no (my father will be less likely to die of a heart attack if I tell him alone). The whole way there, I silently pray to whatever gods may be that he won't go postal on me. I mean, I think he made peace with the fact that I'm dating the heir of our once sworn enemy, but... I think he was secretly hoping I'd find a nice girl and pop out a few Pitch heirs for him ( _not_ going to happen)(I once tried explaining to him that the distaste _he_ feels at the thought of sleeping with another man is equivalent to what _I_ feel when thinking about sleeping with a girl, but I don't think he understood).

Vera answers the door when I knock, a smile quirking up the corner of her wrinkled mouth.

"Welcome home, Master Pitch. We weren't expecting you," she greets me. I smile at her, undoing my coat.

"Hello, Vera. Do you know where my father is? I've some news."

"With Daphne in the kitchen, sir." I don't miss the spark of curiosity in those watery brown eyes.

I make my way into the kitchen, tucking my hands into my pockets. They're slick with sweat (my hands, that is, not my pockets), and my stomach cramps with nerves. But I school my face into a familiar mask of undeterred boredom as I walk calmly into the brightly lit space.

Daphne stands at the sink, washing a plate. The children are scattered about the floor, playing with toys and drawing. My father sits at the low wooden table, wizened hands clutching a cup of coffee (his hands have been looking so _old_ lately... age is something I never thought would touch my father). Everyone looks up as I enter, and Mordelia's face splits into a shit-eating grin, like she's already figured out why I'm here.

"Baz, we weren't expecting you," Says Daphne, stepping forwards to embrace me. I let her. It's warm and soft and she smells like chocolate. My father says nothing, just studies me with one eyebrow quirked. I pull away from my stepmother, looking at them all. A sea of dark hair and Billie Piper mouths; my father, with his slick grey hair and sharp features, looking like an adder amongst them.

"I... I have news," I begin ( _damn_ the quaver in my voice), "Simon and I--" Before I can finish, Mordelia gasps, covering her mouth with her hands, looking truly horrified (only I know she's bluffing).

"Aleister Crowley!" She exclaims, "Did you break up?" Daphne shushes her, and I shoot her a long, cool glare. She sticks out her little pink tongue at me, but shuts up.

"Do go on, Basil," Daphne prompts, her hand clamped tightly onto her troublemaking daughter's shoulder. I resist the urge to smirk at my stepsister. Instead, I turn to my father, deciding that whatever happens, I _won't_ break eye contact with him.

"Simon and I are getting married."

We decided not to tell my family right after I was kidnapped. Si and I both wanted to give ourselves time to breathe-- to heal. So we decided (much to Bunce's behest) to keep it a secret, until my arm was better. Well, it's better now, and the cat is _officially_ out of the bag.

For a few milliseconds, the room is eerily silent. I watch the gears in their heads turn and churn as my words sink in, and then--

Mordelia snorts and mutters,

" _Finally_."

Daphne throws her arms around me, a grin cracking across her face. I don't look away from my father, trying desperately to judge his reaction.

He doesn't look surprised. But he doesn't look angry, either, which I suppose is a good thing. Mostly, he looks like he's thinking about it. And then, finally, a gleam of approval in his dark eyes. And the barest hint of a smile.

Standing up, he puts a surprisingly gentle hand on my shoulder.

"Congratulations, Basilton. You've made a good choice."

And with those words, I wouldn't care if the world exploded around us. Because my father isn't angry. Because my father _approves_. And I was afraid, for a long time, that by marrying Simon Snow, I'd be losing my family.

 

 


	9. All That We Are is Relieved.

**_Baz_ **

Simon's waiting on the couch when I get home, all nervous hands and golden energy. Every so often tendrils of magic whiplash from him like lightning. Like he's the eye of an anxious (albeit beautiful) hurricane. As the door clicks shut behind me, he gets up, walking over to where I stand.

"How did it go?" His voice is a hoarse whisper deep in his throat. Nervous, fiddly fingers grasp my arms, on hand brushing gingerly across my scar (a new habit of Snow's. He likes my scar as much as I like his moles).

On the drive to my parents' house, I debated teasing him if things went well-- pretending momentarily that my father didn't approve. But after the actual encounter, I haven't got it in me; relief at my father's approval has left the idea of joking bland and flavourless in its wake.

So I meet that tempestuous blue gaze and offer up a small, tentative smile.

"He told me 'good choice'," I inform him, my own voice deep and slow, just as cautious as my smile. A grin lights up Simon's handsome golden face.

"He approved?" His smile is contagious, and my own lips spread. The air is cold on my canines.

"He approved."

\---

That night, we sit curled up together on the couch, both of us nursing glasses of wine. Simon's nestled into my side, my arm wrapped around his waist. I like him here. Right where I can hold him and keep him safe. We've been talking-- about everything and nothing all at once-- for a couple of hours, the conversation occasionally drifting to a stop to let the soft music drifting from my mobile fill my flat. And as much as I love _loving_ Simon-- kissing him senseless and caressing that warm golden skin-- I think nights like this, where I'm holding him or he's holding me, where we just lay still and talk for hours on end, are my favourite.

We're sitting comfortably in one of those miniature lapses of conversation right now. Simon plays lazily with my hair with the hand not holding his glass of wine. The air is sleepy and heavy and warm, and I feel my eyelids start to drift shut.

"Baz?" Simon murmurs suddenly, lifting his head off my shoulder to look up at me. I meet his gaze with a vague 'hmmm?'.

"What are we going to do about names?" those blue eyes are earnest and diamond-sharp. Multifaceted. Shining. Clean-cut.

"What do you mean?" I know perfectly well what he means, but I want to hear him say it. I want him to look me in the eyes and tell me who should take what name. Because I'm getting married. Because the idea sends a thrill through my stomach.

Simon's eyes never leave my own. I think I might drown in the blue.

"Baz..." A deep inhale presses his back against my chest, "I'm so tired of being Simon bloody Snow. So, if it's all right with you... may I... may I please have your name?"

The air is knocked from my lungs. I am shocked. Taken aback. Flabbergasted. Of all the things I was expecting him to say, this was _not_ it. I blink, trying to clear myself from my surprised stupor. Once. Twice. Thrice.

"I..." I start to say. And then I look back down at him, and the muddled mess of my mind immediately clears. "Of course. Aleister Crowley, of course, Simon."

And then he's kissing me, and it feels like our first kiss again. Like something messy and perfect and quintessentially, beautifully, _novel_.

 

 


	10. All That We Are is Beginning.

**_Penelope_ **

The arrival of Monday brings Simon and Baz back, with huge grins on their faces and unusually sweet, "hi, Penny"s. I tell them to sod off (but I let them see the responding smile on my face). I don't ask them what they did-- honestly, knowing the two of them, I'm fairly certain they just sat about on their arses for two days.

It was weird having the flat to myself all weekend. Then again, once either Simon or I moves out, that will be what it's like all the time.

Crowley, I'm going to miss him. A small, sad part of me wants to keep Simon all to myself-- to tell Baz to keep away from my best friend. The larger, more rational part of me knows this isn't the end of our friendship (though that word doesn't seem to fit our relationship; Simon really is like my brother-- except he's better than all of my _actual_ brothers), and that I'll still see him, even when he's living with Baz. Besides, Micah and I will hopefully move in together sooner rather than later.

With a barely audible sigh, I drag my sorry arse into the kitchen, snagging my laptop off the couch as I go.

The boys enter the kitchen right as I'm putting the kettle on, Simon ruffling my hair as he passes. Whatever whatever leftover sadness in my chest melts away with the gesture, the blank space it leaves behind turning warm and happy as I glance over my shoulder and see Baz loop his arm loosely about Simon's waist. It's not a protective motion... more like Baz is reminding himself that Simon's still there. Reminding _me_ that Simon's in good hands; Baz will take care of him, no matter what. I can be certain of that.

I sit down at the table across from them, offering them both cups of tea and blowing on the warm steam of my own.

"All right, you two," I say, after I've had a sip, "Let's get down to business." Simon grins at me and starts to hum a song from _Mulan_. I roll my eyes, and Baz flicks his arm.

"Please ignore the lunatic," Baz says to me, his voice teasing and sarcastic. "Where do you think we should start, Bunce?" I frown, thinking.

"Suits? Location? Don't people usually do colour schemes?" I ask. "It's your wedding, you two should choose where to begin. I'll write it down." I raise my ring hand to cast a quick _see what I mean_ , but Simon sits bolt upright, raising his own hands.

"Wait, wait, wait!" he calls out, startling me. Even Baz jumps a little, turning to face him.

" _Simon,_ what the hell was that about?" My brow is furrowed, and I do nothing to smooth it. Simon looks sheepish.

"Sorry... I was just thinking-- maybe I could try?" Baz and I exchange a surprised look. Gently, Baz places a hand on his fiancé's freckled arm.

"Are you sure, Si?" He asks. Simon nods, squaring his shoulders. His typical 'I'm nervous but trying my best not to look it' stance.

"Yeah. I'm sure." I nod my head at him, trying my best to look reassuring, and not scared out of my mind.

"Alright. Just don't explode the kitchen, please, Simon, unless you want me to move in with Baz." Simon grins nervously at me. Then, clearing his throat, he raises one hand ever so slightly off the table.

" _See what I mean_ ," he murmurs. Bright, golden light flashes, making both Baz and I cry out in surprise. As I blink the spots from my vision, my jaw drops at what I see.

A full-sized whiteboard. Complete with pens and a fucking _eraser_. Sitting in the middle of the kitchen. _A full-sized fucking whiteboard_.

"Aleister Crowley," I breathe. At the same time, Baz mutters,

"Holy fucking hell..."

Simon only stares at the whiteboard, his mouth hanging wide open. I don't even tell him he'll catch flies-- I'm too shocked.

"Well I'll be damned... It seems," Baz turns to Simon, grey eyes shining and awestruck (Crowley, they're so in love), "that our lovely little Simon is in need of some Magic Lessons."

 

 


	11. All That We Are is Shocked.

**_Simon_ **

Baz and Penny are looking at me like I've gone postal. Fuck, _I_ think I've gone a bit postal.

How the bleeding hell did I just conjure a whiteboard? I'm not some kind of wizard from a kid's book-- one who can just make things _appear_ out of thin air. I'm a _mage_. And mages cannot conjure whiteboards.

I shake my head, trying to clear it. All the movement accomplishes is flopping my hair into my eyes.

"Baz, I can't do Magic Lessons. We have to plan this." I'm not sure if I'm even talking out loud. I must be, because Baz reaches up and pushes my hair off my forehead.

"Si, we have to figure out the extent of your magic. What you're capable of." Penny nods in agreement.

"Baz is right, Simon. We need to see what you can and can't do. You don't have to start today, but you should start soon." I dig my teeth into my lower lip, considering. After a few moments, I give a small, slow nod.

"Fine. But today, I want to focus on the wedding," I agree.

In response, Penny swipes up a marker and goes up to the board.

"All right. You two, start talking. I'll write things down and veto your terrible ideas," she announces, lightening the mood a little. I manage a small smile, turning to face Baz. One corner of those pale lips is quirked up, and those grey eyes shine happily.

"Right. Let's start with size. Big or small, Simon?" I choke a little, trying not to laugh.

"What?" Baz flicks my arm, grinning. "I'm talking about the _wedding_ , you twat. How big do you want the _wedding_ to be?" I barely have to think before I answer.

"Small." Baz looks triumphant.

"I was hoping you would say that. You got that down, Bunce?" He asks Penny over his shoulder. Penny's marker squeaks against the board.

"Yep. Though, if _I_ were you, I would want a big wedding." Baz sneers at her, subconsciously rubbing his bad arm. Out of habit, I reach out and capture his fingers, pulling them away.

"Well, luckily for you Micah's coming soon, so you can remedy that."Penny blushes and mutters,

"Fuck off, Basil." Her tone is more teasing than angry, so I don't intervene.

We continue on with our plotting, deciding on hydrangeas as the main flowers (they're Baz's favourite), some posh type of champagne I've never heard of that the two of them gushed over, and, finally, where _not_ to honeymoon (Penny rolls her eyes at us for being so picky).As we go on, the tension in the air after my weird display of magic slowly dissipates.

I try not to think about what having powerful magic again might mean. I don't really _want_ to consider the fact that things might go back to what they were before I defeated the Humdrum ** _—_** with Dark Creatures coming after me every other day and people trying to get close to me just for my power. All I want to do is live a nice, quiet, _normal_ life with my soon-to-be-husband, and to not be bothered by all that shit ever again.

My eyes must've glazed over while I was thinking, because Penny grins at me and says,

"Maybe it's time to call it a day, yeah? We've been at it a while." Surprised, I glance at the clock on the wall. Sure enough, we've been plotting for nearly three hours now. Aleister Crowley, three hours and we've barely accomplished anything. I don't think I have the brain power (or the attention span) to plan for weeks on end.

"Wait, before we stop," I blurt out, turning to Baz, "we should pick a date." Penny nods in approval.

"Good thinking, Si. Baz?"

Baz looks thoughtful for a moment, a small crease appearing between those dark eyebrows.

"Right. Well, today's May, what, the twentieth of May?"

"Nineteenth," I correct, a bit proud to have gotten the date right for once. Baz nods.

"Thanks. So, what if we did... sometime late August? Si?"

I think a moment.

"August... fourteenth, maybe?" I suggest. I'm not sure where the date comes from, it just sounds... right, somehow. Penny claps her hands in excitement, cutting off any reply from Baz.

"That day would be perfect! It's a Witch's New Moon— perfect for a wedding!" She gushes. Baz grins, eyes shining in excitement (honestly, the two of them and their wedding ritual obsessions).

"Yes! Simon, that's the perfect day!"

He's smiling at me like I'm the brightest star in any sky. I melt beneath that smile, my cheeks blooming pink and my heart pressing against my sternum.

"August fourteenth it is, then."

 

 


	12. All That We Are is Away.

_**Simon** _

The box in my hands is heavy. The corners of the cardboard bite into my skin, where light scratch lines from previous boxes already cover nearly the entire surface of my forearms. I ignore the discomfort, standing perfectly still in the doorway of my room, staring. Just staring. The walls are blank and barren, the floor too open and empty. A barren wasteland.

We've spent today packing up my room, Penny helping me box things and Baz driving the boxes to his flat.

This whole process started with a conversation about Micah at breakfast this morning. I mentioned staying at Baz's place while Micah is here, to give him and Penny some space. Then we called Baz to make sure he's okay with me invading his space for however long Micah will be here (he said yes, of course, as Penny predicted, but I just wanted to be sure). And _then_ Baz suggested that I just move in with him ("We'll be moving in together anyway. Why not do it now?"). And now here I am, staring at the empty space that used to be my room, my gut churning in excitement and magic sparking at my fingertips (I'm trying _really_ hard not to set the box on fire). This is the very last box; it's full of the photographs from my wall.

I'm ridiculously happy to be moving in with Baz. Honestly, I'm surprised we haven't moved in together before now. I'm going to miss living with Penny, but she'll be getting married soon enough too, so I suppose leaving her has always been sort of inevitable. Besides, I'll still visit her. Even if she decides to move to America with Micah.

"Simon!" Comes Penny's voice from the kitchen. "Baz just texted me to tell you to read your texts!" I shake my head, emerging from my nostalgic stupor. Setting the box down, I pat my pockets, searching for my mobile.

"Have you seen my mobile?" I shout back at her.

"Honestly, Simon, you'll lose your head next! It's right where you left it by the television!" Rolling my eyes, I meander into the sitting room, snatching up my mobile as I pass the TV. Sure enough, there's about twenty texts from my ridiculous fiancé and three missed calls. Sheepishly, I call him back.

"Did you leave your mobile in a random place again?" Baz asks, in lieu of a hello. I grin, sitting down on the couch.

"Me? Never. What's up?"

"Just wanted to know if you had any more boxes. And if you want to go out to dinner with me." A light blush warms my cheeks, and I smile to myself.

"On a date?" I ask. One hand pushes absentmindedly through my hair.

"On a date. We haven't been on one in a while," he replies. I can hear him smiling.

"I would love to go on a date with you. Want to drive over and pick me and the last box up?"

"I would absolutely love to."

 


	13. All That We Are is Together.

**_Baz_ **

To this day, Simon Snow still looks ravishing in a grey suit. He's filled out since our Eighth Year; those shoulders are a bit broader and more muscular, his chest tighter against the fabric of the white shirt. He looks less like a lost, scared ex-supervillain and more like the powerful, beautiful supermage everyone knew he would be. I keep glancing over at him as I drive, watching as the yellow glow of passing streetlights turns him into this supernatural being of gold and silver. Sometimes he catches me looking, gifting me one of those crooked smiles before tapping my jaw with one finger and saying, 'eyes on the road'. I do as he asks every time, though it's never more than a few blocks before I find myself peeking at him again. Simon Snow (soon to be Simon Grimm-Pitch) is as irresistible as the sun he so resembles.

"Where are you taking me?" Simon asks, grinning at me as he turns my head towards the road for the millionth time. A returning smirk quirks one corner of my lips.

"And where's the fun in telling you that, Simon?" He laughs softly in reply, resting one hand on my thigh. A shiver runs up my spine. Taking one hand off the steering wheel, I capture his fingers with mine. Simon promptly pulls my hand up to his lips, brushing a kiss across my knuckles.

"I love it when you call me Simon," he whispers against my skin. Smirk widening, I glance over at him.

"Distracting the driver is dangerous... Simon," I tease. His returning grin is the only reply I get. The cocky, beautiful bastard.

\---

Simon laughs when he sees the restaurant.

"Isn't this the place--" He starts.

"Where you spilled lemonade on me on our fourth date?" I finish. Simon groans, taking my hand (Simon and his hand holding).

"I thought as much." I laugh, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek.

"To be fair, we had a wonderful time when we went back to my flat to get me a change of clothes..." I murmur against his skin, earning a laugh and a playful shove.

"Knob," he teases. I gently shove him back.

"Tosser," I jest in reply.

We reach the door, and I hold it open for him. An overly-chipper waitress takes us to our table, giving Simon a too-appreciative once-over. With a sneer, I take his hand in mine-- a silent ' _laissez faire_ '. Maybe it's a bit overkill, but I'm in a very... Simon-centric mood, at the moment. At any rate, the waitress sees the gesture and looks away, disappointment flitting briefly across her face.

We get a bottle of wine along with our meals, and the names of the latter are so obnoxiously French that Si has trouble pronouncing them. Throughout it all, I can't keep my eyes off of him. It's worse than the drive over here; now I don't have the excuse of watching the road to look away.

After a while, Simon blushes, taking a self-conscious sip from his wineglass.

"Is everything all right?" He asks, once he's finished. I smile softly at him, nodding once.

"Of course. Why do you ask?" The blush on those golden cheeks deepens.

"You're staring at me. Any particular reason why?" I laugh, reaching across the table to grasp his hand in mine. Rubbing my thumb across his knuckles.

"I'm staring at you because you're terribly fucking beautiful, Simon Grimm-Pitch." My voice is a low purr. I can hear his heart pound against his sternum in response. The rush of blood through the arteries in his neck is enticing, inviting me to lean in and kiss him right on that mole. I don't-- it's too much fun to watch him suffer while he waits for a kiss. (I'm still a _bit_ disturbed-- just ask Simon).

Simon's eyes widen into twin blue saucers, a grin spreading slowly across his face. His hand tightens around mine, and he leans in, kissing me unexpectedly. I'm too surprised to reciprocate the gesture.

Too soon, he pulls away. Just far enough that I can see his entire smiling golden face.

"Say that again," he whispers.

"Which part?" I ask, wanting nothing more than to kiss him again-- this time with a bit more vim and vigour.

"The part where you said my name," he breathes. He's closer now, those lips barely inches from mine. I'm not sure when that happened (not that I'm complaining in the slightest).

"Simon Grimm-Pitch." I drag out every syllable, loving the taste of his name on my tongue. It's liquid and smooth and bloody _perfect_. A devilish grin spreads across my fiancé's handsome face.

"Basilton Grimm-Pitch, you say my name like it's Magic." I kiss his cheek softly.

"It _is_ Magic."

 


	14. All That We Are is Angry.

**_Simon_ **

The food is delicious. I finish mine quickly, and then proceed to eat half of Baz's. He still eats with one hand over his mouth-- it's the one self-conscious habit I haven't been able to shake him of. Without really thinking, I reach across the table and pull it down, intertwining our fingers.

" _Simon_ , my fangs pop. People will notice," he objects, glancing around as if we're being watched.

" _Basilton_ , I like it when your fangs pop. And no one will notice. I promise," I reply, offering up a soft smile. Those silver eyes bore into mine unyieldingly, and for a moment, I think that he might take his hand from mine. But then his gaze softens, and he tips his head ever so slightly to one side. The ghost of a grin quirks up one corner of his lips.

"Fine. You win. But--" he points his fork at me, smiling for real now, "--you owe me big time, Simon."

I grin devilishly at him, wishing for the life of me that I could raise one eyebrow.

"I can think of a few ways to pay you back. I'm all yours, my dear," I tease. To my surprise, Baz actually _blushes_ (no small feat for a vampire). But he's grinning back at me, so I don't worry that I've _actually_ embarrassed him.

"I'm going to keep you to your word, Simon Grimm-Pitch." I lean forward a little, smirking.

"I'd be disappointed if you didn't, Basilton."  Baz bursts into laughter, and I follow suit. Before we got together-- before Eighth Year, I suppose-- I never got to see Baz laugh, except when he was laughing at some prank he'd pulled on me. And as sappy as it might sound, I cherish every laugh I get, now that he's mine. Aleister Crowley, I'm in love (I mean, obviously, I'm marrying the bloke, _but still_ ).

We order dessert and share a small glass of wine (technically Baz ordered the wine, but by now it's precedent that I steal his food and drinks)(he doesn't mind-- I've asked). Once we pay for the food, Baz helps me with my coat (ever the gentleman), and we make our way back outside. Night has fallen, but the air is still fairly warm. It must've rained while we were inside, if the damp pavement and sweet-smelling air are to be trusted. As we walk, I loop my arm through his, catching his hand in mine. He smiles at me, leaning in to brush a brief kiss against my forehead.

Someone shouts at us from across the empty road. And unless the man in question is just _really_ enthusiastic about cigarettes, I'm pretty sure the look of disgust on Baz's face is well warranted.

Shock lurches through my stomach. This is the first time Baz and I have gotten public shit from people-- honestly, I kind of forgot that there are still homophobic dickheads out in the world. I look to Baz for guidance, but he just squeezes my hand, continuing to walk. When I continue to look at him, he gives me a nearly imperceptible shake of the head and whispers,

"Just ignore it, Simon. Don't let it go to your head." But it's obviously bothering _him_ ; he's walking ramrod straight, and his shoulders are cinched and tight. For the first time in a long time, he's trying to make his fangs less noticeable through his cheeks (I'm not sure how he does that-- holds his mouth differently? Sucks them into some secret cavity in his skull?). I try to follow his example and ignore it, but, well, I don't exactly have a good reputation for keeping my cool. I'm on edge; ears perked, magic simmering just under the surface of my skin. I swear the muscles in my back clench, as if trying to flare my now-nonexistent wings.

And then the man yells again, this time with the addition of "You disgusting--" in front of his apparent lust for cigarettes.

I try my best to stay levelheaded. I really do (sorry, Baz...). But something in me just _snaps_ and I whirl around, letting my magic come to my skin, feeling it simmer in my eyes and snap across my features.

"Do you have a fucking problem?" I growl, squaring my jaw. Baz tugs on my arm, eyes darting nervously around. It's the most uncomfortable and un-Bazlike I've ever seen him. To be honest, that scares me.

"Simon, _please_ ," he whispers, voice low and panicked and urgent. Apparently he's not quiet enough when he says it, though, because the man laughs-- a drunken, cruel laugh-- and bellows,

"Listen to your _boyfriend_ ," he spits out the last word as if it's acid in his mouth, "You don't want to pick a fight with me, you ruttin' _pixie_."

My. Blood. Boils.

Fury takes over the unfamiliar fear on Baz's face, and suddenly he's smooth and cool and utterly _terrifying. That's_ my vampire.

"Please, sir, if you've got some concerns, do voice them," Baz purrs silkily. Uh-oh. Nothing but death, destruction and carnage has ever come out of his soft, sweet, ' _I'm going to kill you and get away scot-free_ ' voice. I fight down a grin. _This_ will be fun.

"Tha's PDA, tha' is," he nods at our still-interwoven hands, "You tryin' to turn the kiddies of London gay, are you? Fuckin'--" he repeats his choice word from his earlier shouting. He's not lowering his voice at all-- people are starting to stare. Couples with bags from the nearby shops, kids with their parents... everyone. The street didn't seem so crowded until this exact moment; like they've all just appeared out of thin air to witness the spectacle.

Baz smoothes back his hair with one long, steady hand. A sneer tugs at those lips.

"Well, as this little outburst is obviously due to your latent homosexual feelings for your downstairs neighbour, allow us to give a demonstration of how things are properly done," he says, cool as you please. And though he's not shouting, his voice carries. I would assume he'd cast a voice-magnifying spell on himself, but I didn't hear him cast anything. 

The man across the street splutters angrily as Basilton Grimm-Fucking-Pitch swoops in and kisses me right then and there. It's overly dramatic and completely grandiose, but that's Baz for you. (You know that famous black-and-white photo of that couple kissing in Times Square after the end of The War? It feels a bit like that).

When we break apart, people are clapping. The man's face is beet red, and he's practically foaming at the mouth.

"We really do hope this has been educational for you," Baz concludes, just as calm and collected as ever. Personally, I'm breathless, stunned, and my brain has been replaced with candy floss.

People are still clapping when the man screams at us,

"You'll fucking rot in Hell! Fuckin' abominations!" Before storming off. I hear angry yelps down the street as he rams into people.

Baz grips my shoulder, some of the hurt slowly returning to his face, as if peeking through cracks in his mask of calm. Like he's trying his hardest to keep it together, but is one fell blow from falling apart.

"Simon," he implores, "take me home." Without further question, nod.

We walk in silence the rest of the way to the car.

 

 


	15. All That We Are is Broken.

**_Baz_ **

I'm not sure what my emotions are doing right now.

I'm _angry._ At that barmy tosser, for being such a homophobic jerk-off; at Simon, for reacting to him; at myself, for feeling just as the man described me-- for feeling like an _abomination_. For letting his stupid, drunken yelling to crawl into my head and make itself at home. For letting it ruin my evening with the love of my life.

Simon drives us home-- I don't trust myself to. We sit in silence the entire time, but I think his silence is more confused and offended than my emotion-riddled, painful silence.

We wait until we're standing in the entryway of the flat, staring at each other, to say anything. Simon speaks first.

"Are you okay?" His voice is so sincere it breaks my heart. I don't think Simon knows how to be anything but earnest.

And then anger wins the little emotional pissing-contest going on in my brain, and I take a step backwards, away from Simon. Wrapping my arms around myself, I shake my head. Again. Again Again. The world becomes a blur, Simon nothing more than a long, golden streak, but I can't stop shaking my head in a vehement 'no'.

"No, Simon, I'm not." I don't mean to snap, but the words come out sharper than a horsewhip. Simon locks his jaw, looking hurt. Taking a step towards me, he reaches for me again.

"Baz, I'm sorry-- I don't know... didn't realise..." He's stammering again, just like he used to when I got him all worked up. I take another step back and realise there's tears in my eyes.

"Why did you _react_ to him, Simon? Why couldn't you just let well enough alone?" I think I might be shaking, but I don't care. My fiancé looks at me pleadingly, but I ignore that, too.

" _Baz_ , I'm sorry," he repeats. Like he's run out of words. I shake my head again, wiping furiously at my eyes.

" _Enough_ , Snow," the 'Snow' slips out out of habit, and Simon looks like I've punched him in the gut. "Just... enough. I'm going to bed."

"Wha--" He tries to get out. I push past him, going in the direction of our room.

"I'm going to bed," I cut him off. The bite is back in my voice, and I wish it would stop. I hate being angry at him. I hate that I keep saying the things that will hurt him most. But I spent seven years practicing how to do that, and, as they say, old habits die hard.

\---

I don't sleep. I've been lying here on my stomach, fully clothed, trying to stop thinking for one goddamned minute, for a quarter of an hour. I'm not really sure if I'm still crying-- every sensation has mixed together at this point. I'm completely numb.

To my left, the door creaks slowly open, and then shut again. I don't look up. Even when I feel Simon lay down next to me. Even when I feel his hand tentatively tuck my hair behind my ear. I don't look up. Don't react in the slightest.

"Baz?" Simon whispers, "Please talk to me... I really am sorry." Finally, I turn my head to look at him, ignoring the hair that falls into my face. Those blue eyes shine at me through the dark, and there's a crease between his eyebrows. He's lying down, and somehow... that makes things a little better. Because' he's not looking down on me. Because it's an even playing field.

"That man could've hurt us, Simon." My voice is quiet enough that he wouldn't be able to hear me if he was any farther away.

"I wouldn't have let him."

Shaking my head once, I roll onto my side so it's easier to look at him.

"You're not invincible. You think you are, but you _aren't._ " Slowly, cautiously, Simon reaches for me, his warm hands framing my cold face. I let him, but don't meet his eyes.

"I know. Crowley, Baz, _I know_. But it's like..." I can tell he's dying to shove his fingers frustratedly through his hair, but he doesn't let go of my face, "It's like, whenever someone or some _thing_ threatens you, I just lose all sense of... myself. Of what I _can_ do and what I _should_ do. I was trying, but I couldn't just let him say those things to you and get away with it. Because I love you, Baz, " he peers into my face and I avoid those blue-diamond eyes, "you know that, right?"

I nod once.

"I know. But I need you to promise me not to rise to the bait like that-- it never leads to any good," I plead.

"I... can't make any promises. But I _will_ try. And... Baz?" He's biting his lip, and it makes me nervous.

"Yes?"

"You, um... you told me not to let it go to my head. But... Aleister Crowley, Baz, you _did_. I watched you just _wilt_ under his words. So... are you okay?"

I meet his eyes at long last, and they bore into my soul, imploring, caring, worried.

"Simon... when you've been referred to as an abomination for nearly your entire life, it's really hard not to let it go to your head. I mean, _look_ at me. I'm a _gay vampire_. That kind of screams 'please see me as a freak'."

Simon's hand brushes gently down my cheek, surprising me. I expected at least a few seconds of shocked silence.

"I _am_ looking at you," he murmurs, "and you know what I see? I see the selfless, courageous, powerful mage that helped fight off the Humdrum. I see stolen kisses at Christmas. I see a talented musician. I see a badass. I see your snark. I see your sweet, fluffy side. I see the boy I fell in love with. I see the man I'm going to marry. I see _you,_ Baz. And nothing about you screams 'freak'."

I'm staring at him, tears falling silently sideways down my face (I don't recommend crying while lying on your side), completely taken aback.

Simon presses a kiss against my forehead, pulling me close, curling around me. One hand strokes my hair while the other stays wrapped around my waist.

"I love you, Basilton," he whispers. I close my eyes.

"I love you, too, Simon."

 

 


	16. All That We Are is Frozen.

**_Penny_ **

I'm waiting on a stiff bench in the airport, coffee in one hand, my phone in the other. Every few seconds I compulsively check the time, willing it to move faster. Every second brings Micah a little closer to me-- to England.

Simon offered to come with me, but he didn't sound overly enthusiastic about the offer (which is odd, because he and Micah get along well. Maybe he and Baz are up to something?) and anyway, I want to be alone with my boyfriend. I've got something important to ask him.

After what feels like an eternity (but is really only about half an hour) my mobile starts to ring, Micah's smiling contact photo popping up on the screen. Grinning to myself, I accept the call.

"Hey!" I say into the receiver.

"Hey, Penny! Where are you?" Micah's voice is warm and familiar.

"Over by the Starbucks. You?" I glance around, looking for him.

"Oh, I see you. Stay right there!" He hangs up, and I continue to search the crowd around me. There are too many people moving too quickly to easily make out individual faces.

Finally, I see him. He's walking quickly towards me, a grin on his handsome face, those onyx eyes lighting up. Tossing the last dregs of my coffee in a nearby rubbish bin and stuffing my mobile into my pocket, I stand up, making my way towards him.

And then he reaches me, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me in for a kiss. I normally detest making a scene, but somehow that rule doesn't apply when I'm with Micah. I think I love him too much to care.

I smile against his lips, my stomach bubbly and full of butterflies. I think my heart is trying to burst through my chest, it's beating so hard.

"I missed you," He says against my lips. I run my fingers over his short-cropped hair.

"I missed you too. So, so much." Micah pulls away just far enough to look at me. A smile dominates his entire face.

"So. You said you had something important to talk to me about?" There's this impish, knowing gleam in his eyes that tells me he's probably figured it out all by himself. Nevertheless, I feel a blush rise to my cheeks (Micah's the only one that's ever been able to make me blush).

"Right. I've got something to ask you."

"Ask away."

Here we go.

Taking a deep breath, I disentangle myself from him, stepping backwards until I'm about five feet away. Raising my arms, I close my eyes, casting a line deep into my reserve of magic.

" ** _Time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time_**."

Around us, the world slows to a stop. People freeze in their movements, and silence completely overtakes the noise and battery. A deep, unending silence. Through the windows, the sun slows in its ascent across the pale blue sky. Micah looks around in delight, stepping towards me, closing the distance between us. When he's standing a few inches in front of me I take his hands, looking up into his face.

"Micah..."

"Penny..." He's smiling at me, and it bolsters my courage.

"Will you marry me?"

Micah cups my face with one gentle hand, bringing his lips down close to mine.

"I will."

And then he's kissing me again, and I swear it stops time more effectively than any spell.

 

 


	17. All That We Are is Comforted.

**_Baz_ **

When I wake up I feel as though an elephant is sitting on my chest. My fangs feel too big, too heavy ** _—_** disgusting. Even my skin is hypersensitive and uncomfortable, like every nerve ending is exposed and raw.

Fuck. It's going to be one of those days, then. Fan-fucking-tastic.

My face feels swollen and grungy from crying last night, but I can't make myself get up to wash it. Instead I glance over at Si's side of the bed, pushing my fingers angrily through my hair. Simon's still asleep, one hand curled under his cheek, the other draped across the mattress in my direction. Last night, after apologising to each other, I drifted off to sleep. Si woke me up a few minutes later to change out of my suit, and I quickly fell asleep again once we got back in bed, Simon still cradling me against his chest. Neither of us woke up with nightmares last night ** _—_** but I think I'd take a week's worth of night-terrors over my current state of dysphoria (is species dysphoria an actual thing or am I just a crazy, semi-depressed vampire?).

I roll onto my back, staring up at the ceiling. Running the flat edge of my fingernails up and down my not-right skin. My hands shake, but I lack the will to do anything about it. I'm jittery and anxious and numb and perfunctory all at once, and I hate it.

Simon lets out a soft groan, his eyes fluttering open. He rolls over, kissing my cheek vaguely before pushing himself into a sitting position, then getting up and shuffling away from the bed.

"Be right back," he mumbles. I don't answer. After a few moments the bathroom door clicks shut.

Releasing a breath I didn't know I was holding, I roll onto my side, curling into a ball. My fingers grip my arms ** _—_** too hard. I ignore the pain, gripping even harder.

_Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck...._

My own body is closing in around me, constricting my breaths. The roar of blood that fills my ears grates against my mind. Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to block it all out. To remind myself who I am ** _—_** to feel human again.

But that's the problem. I'm _not_ human, am I?

My fingers dig into the flesh of my arms, harder, harder, harder. The pain helps anchor me a little, but the relief is brief. Too brief. My body continues to rub every nerve raw.

" _Fuck_." At least I'm not screaming. I want to be, but something tells me that might get the police called on my pathetic arse.

"Baz?" Shit. I didn't hear Simon come back in. I don't know what to say (I don't really _want_ to say anything), so I say nothing. So he doesn't think I'm mad at him, I shake my head. Somehow, I think he understands.

"Is it a Bad Day again?" He says 'bad day' with capital letters. My grip on my arms tightens.

"Yes," I choke out. Aleister _Crowley_ I think I might be dying. I think my fangs are trying to choke me. If I hold my arms any harder I'm going to draw blood. One of my hands comes up to grip a fistful of my hair, tugging at it painfully.

"B ** _—_** " Simon starts to say my name again, but his mobile rings, interrupting him. With an annoyed groan he picks it up.

"Hey Penny... Alright, call when you get back to the flat?... Yes. Do..." I feel his eyes on the back of my neck. "Do you want me to come with you?" My stomach lurches. Nonononono I really need to _not_ be alone right now. I don't care how unenthusiastic he sounds about the suggestion. "Alright, call when you get back. Love you."

The minute he sets down the mobile, Simon crawls across the bed, stopping when his knees gently bump against my back. With careful hands, he takes my arm and my hair out of my grip. I try to pull away, a growl rumbling in the back of my throat, but he doesn't let me (damn his tenacity).

But he knows better than anyone how to snap me out of these stupid self-hatred funks I fall into every so often (I think the last time this happened was about a month and a half ago— which is much longer than I used to go between 'episodes').

Without saying anything, he grips my hands in his, curling himself around me.

"Why aren't you helping Bunce?" My voice is dull and apathetic. He knows I don't mean anything by it.

"Because I'm helping you," he answers simply. One hand starts to stroke my hair and I bristle for a moment before slowly relaxing into the touch. My shoulders remain tight and stiff, unresponsive.

"Why are you helping me and not her?" I ask, squeezing my eyes shut tight against the painful prickling in my chest. With every word, my lips catch on my fangs. I can't get them to retract.

" _Basilton_ , you know why." I sigh, bringing my hands up to cover my face.

"I know... I'm sorry, I don't know why..." I swallow hard, "I don't know why this is happening." I growl in frustration at myself as my lip catches on my fang again and I taste blood. "I'm sorry... talking is making it worse..."

"Then don't talk. And don't apologise. I've got you... I'm not going anywhere."

After a moment, he kisses the back of my neck, whispering,

"You know I love you, Baz. Fangs and all."

"I know. I think I just need some help loving _myself_ , fangs and all," I whisper back. My voice still feels raw and scratchy in my throat. Simon gently tugs on my shoulder until I turn onto my other side to face him. Softly, he traces the features of my face, fingers moving slowly and deliberately. Surprisingly, it helps. I feel myself start to settle back into my own skin, bit by broken bit.   
****  
"That's what you've got me for."

"I know."

 


	18. All That We Are is Okay.

**_Simon_ **

I sort of nuzzle Baz awake, bumping my chin and nose against his jaw. It's four in the afternoon. He fell asleep on my chest at three (I think). We haven't done much today-- after I calmed him down a bit, we watched a movie and snogged a little (a lot). I actually succeeded in making us lunch (bacon butties. Easy enough), and Baz fell asleep right after. I dozed off for a while, too, and I probably wouldn't have woken up if it weren't for my mobile buzzing on the ottoman.

"Baz," I murmur. He groans in reply, not opening his eyes, "Darling, wake up." I feel the soft brush of his lips against my neck before he mutters,

"Only because you called me 'darling'." I grin, pushing my fingers through his silky black hair (even when it's knotted by sleep, it's still ridiculously smooth. Like, shampoo commercial smooth).

"You're a prat, you know." My voice is low and affectionate-- flirtatious. Warm breath tickles my throat as he chuckles.

"And you're an Extra-Special Idiot, Simon," he replies, his own voice deep and sultry. I laugh a snorting, giggling laugh. Like when a little kid starts laughing and can't stop. Playfully, I poke his forehead.

"I'm _your_ Extra-Special Idiot, Basilton. Now are you getting up?" Baz only groans again, sliding down to bury his face in my chest.

"Do I have to?" I poke him again.

" _Yes_. Penny and Micah want to have dinner." Baz shoots me a pathetic thumbs up, still not lifting his head off my chest.

"Good for them. Glad to hear it. Food is important." I try lifting his chin with my hands but he won't budge. Just presses his face closer to me. The petulant child.

"With _us_ , you wanker. They want to have dinner with _us,_ " I insist, trying to hide the smile from my voice.

" _Fine_ , I'll get up. I need to go hunt, anyway," he grumbles, pushing himself up. I sit up too, pushing my fingers through my matted curls in an attempt to tame them. Baz goes to stand up, but I stop him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Baz," I say. He faces me. The lustre is back in those silver eyes-- a good sign.

"Yes?" He says it like he already knows what I'm about to ask. But not like he's pissed-- not like he would have been three years ago.

"Are you feeling better? We don't have to go eat with Penny and Micah, if you're not up to it." A soft smile tips the corners of those grey-pink lips.

"I'm okay, Si. Just... a bit wiped out. I'll be better after I eat." I nod, then lean in to kiss his cheek, just below the sharp cheekbone. And then I shift onto my knees to kiss his forehead (he's too fucking tall, even sitting down).

"Okay. Good. I love you, Baz," I reply, resting my forehead against his hairline. Against that knife-tip widow's peak. He presses his face into my neck. His warm breath in stark contrast with his cool grey skin.

"I know. I love you too." He presses a gentle kiss to the mole on my neck before disentangling himself from me and standing up. "I'm going to go hunt. I'll be back."

I nod. And then he's gone.

I shouldn't be, but... I'm still worried about him. Maybe I should follow him out. He could probably use the company. But I decide against it. That would be too Fifth Year of me.

Aleister Crowley, Fifth Year. How did Penny not realise I was in love with Baz before Eighth Year? I'm definitely asking her at dinner. That'll be a fun conversation: "Hey Pen, why didn't you realise I was gay? I was obviously very, _very_ gay."

Yeah, I shouldn't ask that.

(I might, though. Some day).

 

 


	19. All That We Are is Surprised.

**_Penelope_ **

Simon and Baz show up right on time (the one thing Baz is useful for is keeping Simon punctual). When the doorbell buzzes Micah glances up at me from the ham he's slicing for sandwiches.

"Do you want me to get the door?" He asks, wiping his hands on a towel. He's wearing his glasses like he always does when he's tired (otherwise he wears contacts), and in his soft cotton t-shirt and loose jeans, I don't think he's ever been more attractive. I like Micah like this-- soft and easy and comfortable.

I don't realise I'm staring until he grins at me like he knows I got distracted (Micah is the only person I've ever met who _can_ distract me). Smiling back at him, I shake my head, setting down the salad tongs I'm holding.

"No, let's both. We don't have much left to do for dinner, anyway. And they'll want to see you-- it's been a while." Micah nods and takes my hand. Pulling me towards him, he presses a quick, surprising kiss to the top of my head before leading us out of the kitchen. Heat rises to my cheeks, and I'm pretty sure I'm grinning like an idiot. An uncontrollable, Simon-Snow-grin.

We open the door to Simon and Baz's smiling faces. Simon's got one arm around his fiancé's waist, that familiar little divot of worry visible between his eyebrows. His smile seems genuine enough, though. Baz looks haggard (probably why Si's worried), but seems cheerful enough. Curiosity spikes through my stomach, but something about the dull gleam to Baz's grey eyes makes me think twice about asking. At the very least, I'll wait until later to ask Simon.

Cheerful hellos are exchanged. The boys shake hands; Simon hugs me; Baz flicks my arm with an affectionate smirk. We all corral around the table, chatting and laughing jovially. It all feels strangely... normal. For a vampire, an ex-supervillain, a clever Mage with purple hair, and an American.

Simon looks around and sighs melodramatically.

"It's weird to be back," he says, flopping into a chair. Baz and I raise an eyebrow at the same time.

" _Simon_ , you've only been gone a few days," I reply, folding my arms. Simon rolls his eyes.

" _Yes_ , Penny, but it's different, isn't it? It's just weird to be back without living here." Beside him, Baz half-sneers, settling gracefully into a chair (Tyrranus Basilton Grimm-Pitch is a Disney princess, and nobody can convince me otherwise).

"I can't decide if I should feel insulted or not, Simon..." He mutters. Micah laughs, and I smile.

"I feel like you should probably be insulted," Micah replies. Baz grins conspiratorially at him.

"I think you might be on to something." Simon rolls those blue eyes again.

"I swear, every time we're all together you all gang up on me," he bemoans. Reaching over, I tousle those tawny bronze curls.

"It's because we love you, Simon."

An idea dawns on me as I watch my best friend's smiling face, and I stand up slowly, not taking my eyes off of Simon.

"Come help me finish up dinner?" I ask him. Micah and Baz look at me.

"Baz and I can help, too, Pen," Micah offers. I shake my head, shooting Baz my 'I've-got-an-idea' look. He nods like he understands, peeking sideways at Simon.

"No, you two can stay out here and plot. Si and I will be right back."

I lead a very confused Simon Snow into the kitchen, pressing a finger to my lips. Nonplussed blue eyes stare down at me as I take him into the farthest (and hardest to hear) corner of the room.

"Penny what--" I shush him and he sighs, starting again more quietly. "Penny, what's this about? What're you doing?" I plant my hands on my hips.

"Did you and Baz practise Magic today?" I demand softly. Simon looks even more baffled, shaking his head.

"No, Baz wasn't feeling well. Why? Why are we in the kitchen?"

"Have you got your wand?"

"No, I don't need it anymore. S'useless. And I asked you first, Penny."

I grin at him.

"We're going to test the limits of what you can do."

 

 


	20. All That We Are is Astonished.

**_Simon_ **

"We're going to do _what_?" I ask, more confused than ever.

"You're going to conjure something," Penny replies, still not really answering my questions.

"Like with the whiteboard?" Penny turns around, clearing a space on the cluttered countertop.

"Sort of... But more difficult. You're going to conjure a cake," she says, not looking at me. My brow wrinkles.

"Isn't food magic impossible?" Penelope finally looks at me, raising one eyebrow.

"So is doing magic without a wand, Simon." I chew on my lip, thinking. Considering her reply.

"Alright. So what do I do?" I ask. Penny rolls her eyes and heaves a dramatic sigh.

"Do _I_ look like the most powerful mage our world has ever seen?" I grin at her.

"Yes?" She punches my arm in response.

"Just do whatever you did with the whiteboard, you wanker!" Laughing, I nod my head once.

"Fine, fine."

I take a few steps away from her. Clearing my throat, I half-close my eyes and force myself to concentrate. Picture what I want in my head. Pull it into being.

Opening my palms, I pull at a feeling, a supernova hum of power deep in my chest made of pure air and magic. A weight settles gently into my open hands after hardly any time at all. For a moment the frosted surface shimmers gold, but the glow fades quickly, leaving me holding a warm chocolate cake.

Penelope gasps, those brown eyes wide and staring in awe at the cake.

" _Nicks and Slick_ , Simon..." She breathes. I don't answer. I _can't_. I'm staring, dumbfounded, at the cake I just pulled out of the air like a storybook magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat. My magic doesn't even feel drained in the slightest bit, and I don't feel overheated. And I don't feel like I've just torn another hole in the Magickal Atmosphere-- like when we rescued Baz from the Enenra all those months ago, it feels like I'm a _part_ of the Magickal Atmosphere itself. Like I can use as much magic as I need to without causing any damage. Like I _am_ magic.

A small, shocked, " _Oh_..." is all I can manage.

 


	21. All That We Are is Forewarned.

**_Micah_ **

I, for one, am not surprised that Simon is marrying Baz. I mean, Penny always made Baz sound like a bit of a 'lovable asshole', but I've wondered for a long time (almost since I first _met_ Penny and 'her boys', as she calls them) if Simon liked him. In Pen's letters for a few years she would go into exasperated detail about Simon only talking about Baz and following him around like a lost puppy. And now I guess I get to say 'I told you so' to all of them (though I am surprised how long it took Simon and Baz to actually get together).

Currently, Baz is staring at me from across the table like he's trying to drill holes into my skull with his eyes. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose. Did I do something wrong? Baz, Simon, and I have always gotten along fairly well, but right now I think Baz might hurt me.

"Is something wrong?" I ask, clearing my throat. Baz blinks slowly, the movement weirdly feline, and leans back in his seat.

"We need to talk," he answers simply, crossing his arms. He winces a little when he moves one arm-- it must be the one he broke. I nod, pushing my glasses up again (sort of a nervous tic I've developed).

"I'm listening." Baz is back to glaring daggers at me. A lock of raven-black hair falls into his eyes but does nothing to dim the intensity of his death-ray scowl.

"It's about Penny," He says slowly. My brow furrows.

"What about her?" Baz leans forward, never once breaking eye-contact with me. I feel like a little kid in a staring contest (I'm losing). Jesus, I'm too jet-lagged to deal with his enigmatic antics right now.

"She finally proposed?" He juts his chin in the direction of the silver band on my finger (Penny conjured it right before setting time right again). He really doesn't miss a thing-- I'd thought Pen was exaggerating. I nod.

"She did." Baz stares at me for one long, cool moment.

"You know Simon and I will literally blow you off of this earth if you break her heart, right?" He asks, cool as anything. My jaw drops a little, and I have the ridiculous urge to laugh. Holy shit, I think he's the most threatening person I've ever met. And I've met _Simon Snow_ , who's the most powerful Mage on earth (that's not saying much, though, the dude's a big teddy bear).

I grin broadly at him.

"Yeah, I know. I can promise you, that will _never_ be necessary," I assure him. Immediately, the death-glare melts away. Baz smiles (slightly) at me, holding out a hand to shake.

"Then welcome to our family, Micah. Penny did good, choosing you."

"Thanks, Baz. Simon did good, choosing you, too," I reply, shaking his hand, "I can tell he loves you a lot." The other Mage smiles for real, a slight pink tinge rising to his grey cheeks.

"I can tell Penny loves you, too-- she looks at you like you're the only person in the room. It takes a special sort of person to do that." I'm smiling too, because I think this is the longest, friendliest conversation I've ever had with Baz. It's nice-- he's a pleasant guy.

"I'm glad you think so. You know, I've been wondering for a long time whether or not you and Simon were going to get together. I'm glad you finally have. He's a good guy." I swear on the Veil, he looks like a lovesick schoolboy-- I have _never_ in my life seen anyone so badass look so sappy. It's nice, actually. I think it confirms my original feeling that he's actually a nice person, despite what Penny's said in the past.

"He really is a good guy. Maybe the _best_ guy..." He trails off, then shakes himself out of whatever reverie he's in and looks back at me, "And Bunce, too. She's terribly fucking smart-- she knew what she was doing when she chose you." It's my turn to get goo-goo eyed and dreamy.

"Penny is _so_ smart. She's probably the cleverest person I've ever met."

We lapse into comfortable silence, both of us smiling like idiots, thinking about our respective significant others.

I am so in love with Penelope Bunce I don't know what to do with myself. I don't think I ever expected to end up with someone so _completely_ awesome. She's clever and brave and loyal and honest and powerful and just... well, she's just so _Penelope_. I've never been so excited as I am about the fact that I get to spend the rest of my life with her. I mean, the rest of my life with _Penelope friggin' Bunce_. That's pretty freaking amazing.

 


	22. All That We Are is Thoughtful.

**_Simon_ **

I tell Baz about the cake on the drive home. We've been at Penny's for several hours, and after a few glasses of champagne each (not nearly enough to get plastered on-- we all have too much work to do to be bothered with hangovers) and a few subsequent hours full of long, deep conversations, we decided it was time for Baz and I to go home.

I tell him as we're sitting at a red light. I'm actually starting to get a bit worried; it's been nearly half a minute, and Baz still hasn't responded.

"...Baz? What are you thinking?" I ask tentatively, craning to try and catch a glimpse of his face through the shadows. Without looking away from the changing stoplight, Baz reaches over and takes my hand.

"I'm thinking about how we're going to go about the whole 'magic lessons' thing tomorrow," He glances briefly at me before looking back at the road. "I mean, if you're able to conjure an entire _cake_ , you might be more powerful than we thought. Food magic--"

"Isn't possible, I know. Penny told me." Baz nods, squeezing my hand.

"Right. Well, no matter what you do tomorrow, we'll figure it out, yeah? Because that's what you and I do best." I smile and bring his hand up to my lips, brushing a kiss against his knuckles.

"Yeah. Sherlock bloody Holmes and John bloody Watson, you and me," I reply, teasing, earning a chuckle out of Baz. "What time are we gonna start in the morning?" Baz arches one perfect, dark eyebrow.

"Anytime, I should think. Why do you ask?" I grin and keep kissing his hand, still barely brushing my lips across his skin.

"No reason..." ( _Lies_ ). I keep kissing the pale skin of his hand. Long fingers, soft palm, delicate wrist. Baz laughs darkly.

"There you go again, Simon. Distracting the driver. Kiss me when we're at _home_ ," He teases back, that deep voice a purr in the back of his throat. The hair on the back of my neck stands up at that voice.

I smirk at him.

"Then drive faster."

He does.

 


	23. All That We Are is Deviant.

**_Simon_ **

Baz closes the door to our flat by pushing my back against it. I grin, waiting for him to kiss me. _Wanting_ \-- really, _really_ wanting-- him to kiss me.

The bastard doesn't.

Instead, he runs a thumb over my lips, his face only inches from mine. At this distance, if I focus on one feature everything else sort of blurs. I like him this close-- with all his sharp edges blurred and softened a bit. Within close proximity of my lips.

At first he's looking at me, smirking, gauging my reaction. Then he takes my hand. He kisses my knuckles. My palm. My wrist. His lips are soft and it feels amazing but I _need_ him to kiss me. Because I love kissing Baz-- he's good at it.

With a growl of frustration, I cup his face in my hands, making him look at me. I don't take my hands away once he's straightened up. A smirk tugs at those teasing grey-pink lips. The tosser. He knows perfectly well that he's driving me insane.

"Baz--" My voice is somewhere between a growl and a hoarse whisper, "Kiss me."

He does. And a thrill shoots through my stomach.

At first it's almost hesitant, his warm breath fanning across my mouth, lips barely brushing mine. And then his hands wrap around my waist, tugging me closer, and his lips press hot against mine, kissing me like there's nothing in the entire world he'd rather be doing. My fingers push through that soft, shampoo-commercial hair, bunching at the back of his head. I feel Baz grin against my mouth in response.

Encouraged, I do something I've never done before. Without even really thinking about it, I send a sort of... caress of magic up the side of his leg to his hip. Baz freezes a moment, pulling away just far enough to talk (albeit rather breathlessly).

"Was that...?"

"Magic," I affirm. Baz grins deviantly, pushing his fingers through my hair with one hand, pulling me closer against his chest with the other.

"It felt nice..." he purrs, "...do it again?" In answer, I press my mouth to his again, sending more tendrils of magic snaking along his legs and arms and torso.

"Can I try something?" I breathe through the kiss. Baz nods.

"Anything." Aleister _Crowley_ , he's terribly fucking sexy when his voice is all breathless like that.

I raise up on tiptoe, bringing my lips up close to his ear, and whisper,

" _ **Basilton Grimm-Pitch**_." I push magic into his name, letting the words settle smooth and golden into the air we're sharing. Baz lets out a small, surprised (though not unpleasantly so) sound, his hands tightening around my waist.

"Fucking hell," he gasps.

"You okay?" I ask, concern for what I've just done settling like a brick in my stomach. In reply, Baz smirks, laughing a little. The worry eases, giving way to a laugh of my own.

"Better than okay. Aleister fucking Crowley, Si, that felt like you poured... I dunno, _stardust_ into me or something. And like you tied a string behind my navel and yanked." I grin, pressing my lips against the long column of his neck.

"What was it like?" I ask against his skin. Baz cranes his neck so his lips are close to my ear-- just as mine were moments ago.

"Follow me and I'll show you."

I do. Follow him.

Fuck, I'd follow him to the ends of the earth. Farther. I'd follow Basilton Grimm-Pitch to places no human being has ever set foot in before. And this is only the bedroom.

 


	24. All That We Are is Lucky.

**_Baz_ **

Aleister fucking Crowley, I'm a lucky bastard. (I'm pretty sure Simon Snow-- soon to be Simon Grimm-Pitch-- is the single hottest person alive. I would do anything for him. _Anything_.)

 


	25. All That We Are is Powerful.

**_Simon_ **

"Alright," Baz says, dropping our bag of snacks and water on the loamy ground of the clearing, "let's see what you can do."

We stayed in bed most of the morning, sleeping and cuddling and generally enjoying the warm sun streaming in through our window. Then, after a quick shower and bacon butties (not at the same time), he drove us out to these woods. Right now we're standing in a clearing, the sunlight dappling our skin with gold. Baz looks especially beautiful in this light. Gold and silver and dark and light all at once. I've never known a Mage who looked more Magickal than he does.

"Where should I start?" I ask. I've no idea what I'm doing-- _he's_ supposed to be the one with the plan. If nothing else, nearly twelve years of knowing each other has taught us that.

Baz faces me, standing five metres away with his hands on his (perfect) bony hips. I managed to convince him to tie his hair back today. It suits him. Brings out the grey in his eyes and the sharp curves of his cheekbones.

"Try doing an actual spell. Something easy like **' _Up and At 'Em!_ '**." Nodding, I focus my attention on the small pile of pine needles stacked in front of me. Clearing my throat and awkwardly raising my hand, I do as Baz says.

" _' **Up and At 'Em!'**_ " I command. Immediately the pine needles begin to shiver. One by one, they stand upright, then begin to march in an orderly little circle. I watch, mesmirised by the whole process. Despite Baz's claim that it's an easy spell, I don't think I've ever been able to properly cast an _**Up and At 'Em**_. That is, until now.

I look back at Baz. He's got this slight little smile on his lips as he watches my pine needles fall back to the ground.

"What now?" I ask. Baz's eyes meet mine, and I can tell he's thinking. Baz is one of the few people I know who has an actual, honest-to-god 'I'm thinking' face (to be fair, he claims I have one, too).

"Try doing something... impossible," he says at last. I blink, confused.

"How do you mean?" Baz crosses his arms loosely, still looking frightfully pensive.

"Like with the cake. You know that silver watch that I hate?" My brow furrows. It's just like Baz the be as fucking enigmatic as humanly (vampirishly?) possible.

"The one the Minotaur gave you after the Leavers Ball?"

"Yes. I want you to try and summon it." Realisation finally dawns on me as I process what he's asking. I have to suppress a laugh.

"Like in Harry Freaking Potter?" Baz grins, grey eyes sparkling.

"Like in Harry Freaking Potter," he confirms. Smiling like an idiot, I close my eyes, concentrating on a mental image of that stupid watch. Hooking a loop of magic around it and pulling it towards me (I'm a magical fucking cowboy)(a magical gay cowboy).

At first nothing happens. I open my eyes, Baz opens his mouth. And then something knocks heavily against my hand before falling dramatically to the ground. Swearing loudly, I look down.

The watch lies there next to the pine needles.

"Aleister fucking Crowley," I breathe. My eyes feel impossibly wide, and I can't get my mouth to stop hanging open.

"Simon..." Baz whispers, like he's half afraid of what will happen if he talks at full volume, "Is there nothing you can't do?"

Holy freaking shit.

 


	26. All That We Are is Changed.

**_Baz_ **

I'm marrying a fucking god.

Where the hell is he getting all this magic from? How is he not creating another evil, Simon-shaped hole in the Magickal Atmosphere? _Is_ there no limit to what he can do?

I guess there's no time like the present to find out.

"Simon..." I still don't know what to say. Those blue eyes swivel over to me, a little too big and a little too scared. It's like we're back in the forest by my house, all those years ago. Standing in the biggest dead spot in England, watching my family march towards us, ready to murder Simon in cold blood. He looks eighteen again, young and scared. My heart lurches.

"Baz...?" He asks. Even his voice is trembling slightly. Out of habit, I reach out to grab his hand.

"Look, Si... I don't know what's happening, or why you're able to do all of these things, but... I think we maybe need to keep trying-- to keep testing you on what you can and cannot do. But only if you're okay to keep going today. We can always try again later." Simon shakes his head, looking back at the watch resting on the pine needles.

"No... I think I'm okay to keep going for a while longer..." his voice is still softer than normal, and not in a good way. His worry only worries me further.

"Has your magic gone thin at all?" I ask. Those bronze curls bounce ridiculously as he shakes his head again. Aleister Crowley... he's still not looking at me and it's scaring me shitless.

"No, it's all there. And it doesn't feel like..." white teeth dig into his rosy lower lip, "It doesn't feel like last time. Like I'm taking all the magic from the Atmosphere or whatever. It's more like... I dunno, like I'm _made_ of the Magickal Atmosphere itself." I squeeze his hand reassuringly. Pulling myself closer to him. I'm not sure which one of us I'm reassuring-- maybe more myself than Simon.

"If it makes you feel any better, your magic doesn't _smell_ like it used to. It smells... like gold. And maybe a little like cinnamon. And it doesn't _burn_ like your magic used to. It's like your entire Magickal Chemical Makeup has changed, somehow." Simon pushes his free hand through his hair, bunching his fingers in the back. Closing his eyes, his chest rises and falls as he pulls in a deep breath.

The funny thing about Simon is he's really good at not showing when something's really bothering him. I mean, any other time he wears his heart on his sleeve, but with really, really bad emotions, he's good at hiding. I can always tell-- I think Bunce can, too. He goes uncharacteristically still, and his eyes get a little too bright.

He's doing that now. Staring at that goddamned watch like it's a ticking time bomb.

"Simon," I murmur, tugging him against me. He doesn't try to pull away, just falls against my chest. I wrap my arms tightly around his waist, still not entirely sure which of us I'm comforting. Simon smells like cinnamon and sunrise and a little like the forest we're standing in.

"Simon," I say again, "We could just go home." My fiancé just shakes his head, resting his cheek against mine.

"No, Baz... I want to do this. We have to figure this out." I nod, briefly closing my eyes.

"Alright. Then let's do it."

 


	27. All That We Are is Tired.

**_Simon_ **

I can't turn back time. I can't bring dead bugs back to life. And I can't launch myself into outer space like a rocket. I _can,_ however, impale a tree with a bolt of pure magic, fly/float without wings, and block out the sun with a massive bank of clouds.  

By the time we decide to call it a day, I'm terrified and tired. Tired because I've been standing and running around all day in the hot sun without more than a bacon butty to eat. Terrified because... well, because I've been using magic all day and still don't feel drawn thin in the slightest. And because I can do things I couldn't even do back when the humdrum was a problem. When I could turn on lights and conjure wings without even thinking.

I don't think I'm making an evil twin again. Like I told Baz, my magic feels _mine_ now, and it used to feel borrowed. Like I never was entirely the master of it. 

I think Baz can tell I'm scared (I've never been able to hide my feelings from him-- I'm still partially convinced that vampire mind-reading is an actual thing). But he doesn't point it out (I love him for that); just wraps an arm around my waist or tugs on my hand. The only time he left  my side today was to drain a deer (he still won't let me watch). Even as we drove home he kept one hand in mine. 

I start drifting off to sleep as soon as my head hits the pillow at home. I had the sense to undress, so I'm not laying here in my grotty t-shirt and jeans, but I don't bother to drag my beleaguered body under the covers. Baz lays next to me, rubbing my back. It still gets sore where my wings used to be. How he knows it hurts right now is beyond me-- not that I'm complaining. 

"You still okay to go to Bunce's to plot tomorrow?" Baz murmurs, gently pressing his lips against the base of my neck. I nod, not opening my eyes. 

"Yeah."

We're silent for a few moments, and I feel myself falling asleep in the silence. Right as I'm about to, I realise I've got more to say to him than 'yeah'. Jesus, I'm tired. 

"Baz?"

"Simon?" His words are slurring a little, and his breathing is slow and soft. Sleepy Baz is my favorite Baz-- soft and fluffy and achingly sweet. 

"Thank you for helping me today. Nicks and Slick, Baz, thank you for everything." His hand finds mine, his head resting lazily on my shoulder. I can hear the sleepy smile in his voice as he says,

"Goodnight, Simon." Translation: "you're welcome, you idiot". Crowley, I love this man. I grin to myself as I allow sleep to take over. 

"Goodnight, Baz."

 


	28. All That We Are is Bored.

**_Simon_ **

We plot. And plot. And _plot_. For days on end, the only thing we do is lounge about Penny's flat, eating salt and vinegar crisps and drinking crap cider and planning out every minute detail of the wedding. Baz and Penny get really into it, but Micah and I mostly just sit around trying to launch wadded up paper napkins into empty take-away boxes.

We rule out holding the ceremony in a church (one of us happens to be a vampire), deciding instead to hold it on the green outside Baz's family's estate (well, the one estate I didn't accidentally steal all the magic from). We come up with a (rough) guest list, call a baker for a cake, a florist for flower arrangements (hydrangeas and these weird silvery plants I doubt actually exist in the wild).

One week of this turns into another. I sample fifty billion slices of cake (the one thing I can't complain about), smell a shit ton of cologne that all smells the same, and stare at exactly 27 different marquee fabrics before Baz and Penny decide on the first one we looked at. I accidentally whack Micah in the head with a spatula while 'sword fighting' with him (I'm armed with said spatula, Micah with a wooden spoon). Between plotting days, Baz and I go back out to the woods and test the limits of my magic until my arms shake and my brain feels like mush (I can sort of teleport, I can't time travel), my magic still refuses to go thin. Every night we fall exhausted into bed, sleeping as soon as our heads hit the pillows.

I'm bored out of my mind.

And Aleister Crolwey, I'm head over heels for Baz, but this is driving me insane.

Today, however, I find a way to entertain myself. I've decided to make Baz a wedding present, and it's gonna be pretty freaking awesome.

 


	29. All That We Are is Busy.

**_Baz_ **

Simon is bored out of his mind. He and Micah both are. I feel terrible about it, and I want desperately to make it up to him. To hold him in my arms and kiss him senseless and run my hands over that smooth golden skin by way of an apology. But we're both so exhausted we fall asleep as soon as we get into bed every night.

His magic is unfathomable. There are things he can't do, but really, the magic that fails him is magic that nobody should possess. I always check to make sure I'm not hurting him with all of this endless magic practise, but he says he's fine. I believe him; his eyes and skin don't glow, his movements don't grow sluggish and disjointed, he remembers his own name. Occasionally little golden sparks crackle between his fingertips, but I don't worry about them. That happens even when he isn't doing magic-- all it takes is emotion for those sizzles of golden electricity to snap and pop about his hands.

In the rare moments when we're apart and I'm not busy helping Bunce plan, I start working on making Simon a wedding present. I think he's going to like it-- hopefully it makes up for all the time I'm not spending with him.

Most of all I hope he's not mad at me. Because good God, I'm in love with Simon Snow.

 

 

 


	30. All That We Are is Snapping.

**_Simon_ **

Baz and I are sitting at lunch when I finally snap. I think it's the fact that we're just sitting there, not talking to one another, looking at stupid wedding notes, that pushes me over the edge. Or maybe it's the fact that this is the twenty-second slice of cake I've eaten in the past four days. Or maybe it's the fact that Penny keeps sending us on useless errands (which we're currently taking a snack break from).

My fork clatters noisily to the table and I drop my head into my hands, pushing my fingers roughly through my hair.

"That's it. I can't try another flavour of cake!" Baz looks up, one perfect brow arching.

"Who are you and what have you done with Simon Snow?" he asks, sounding like he's only half joking. I stare at him pleadingly.

"These errands are driving me insane, Baz." Golden electricity crackles through my fingers, snapping through my hair. Baz leans over, kissing my cheek. One arm wraps around my waist and it feels so _good_. We've barely even kissed for the past three weeks. It's fucking maddening.

"Me too." His breath is warm against my skin. "Let's start having a little fun with them, then." I kiss his jaw.

"How do you mean?"

"I mean," Baz arches his neck a bit, "Let's get the errands done quickly, and just dick around the city for the rest of the day. Bunce won't even know." I pull away to smile at him, reaching up to tuck his hair behind his ear.

"You're a genius, Basilton. Have I ever told you that?" My fiancé grins wickedly at me.

"Once or twice..." He leans in close, nuzzling his lips against the base of my neck, "But keep saying it anyway." So I do. In a whisper close to his ear as he kisses my neck.

"You're a genius, Basilton."

 

 


	31. All That We Are is Content.

**_Penny_ **

Baz and Simon have been taking longer and longer to return from the simple errands I'm sending them on. I don't think I mind-- Simon seemed close to losing his shit a couple weeks ago, and these suspiciously long supply runs with Baz seem to have calmed him down a bit.

Besides, their absence means I get to spend more time with Micah.

We talk about our own wedding, comparing and contrasting our growing plans with Simon and Baz's. They want a small wedding, we want a big one. Simon wants chocolate cake, we want red velvet. Their bouquets are hydrangeas and various gold-and-silver painted other plants. Our bouquets will have sunflowers and buttercups. It's actually quite fun-- wedding planning is maybe one of the few 'girly girl' things I actually enjoy. Well, not enough to make a career of it, but enough for the time being.

Micah and I get our work done early nearly every day. Then he reads to me, or we watch telly all curled together in a way that used to disgust me when looking at other couples. Sometimes we just sit there in content silence, reading our own books or writing our own essays or just sitting. And it's just so... _perfect_. It's everything I've ever hoped living with Micah could be.

I don't like to think about what will happen when he goes back to America. He promised his mum-- once Simon and Baz's wedding is over, he _has_ to go.

I think I might go with him.

I haven't told the boys yet. I don't know how I'm going to. All I know is eventually, I'll have to choose: to stay or to go. And maybe it wouldn't be permanent-- maybe I could convince Micah to move back to England with me. All I know is it's going to wreck Simon. Simon, who's more of a sibling to me than any of my _actual_ siblings. Simon, who I love dearly.

Eventually, I'm going to have to tell Simon. And I am dreading that moment.

 

 


	32. All That We Are is Sleepy.

**_Simon_ **

There's someone (probably Baz) shaking me awake. With a groan, I fling an arm over my face.

"What do you want?" I grumble. The person tugs on the ends of my sleep-tangled hair.

"Wake _up_ , Simon, I've got something to show you!" Says Baz's excited voice.

"I don't _want_ to wake up," I protest childishly. Baz's weight shifts, and suddenly he's sitting on top of me. I huff a sound that's half laugh, half groan.

"Then don't wake up, just move your arm so I can get at your ears." My brow furrows in confusion, but I move my arm. What in Crowley's name is he doing? I feel headphones being pressed gently into my ears, and then a slight pause before a song begins to play. It's soft. And slow. And so lovely it sends a shiver up my spine, the dulcet piano chords caressing my every molecule.

"Isn't this Andrei's song from the BBC version of War and Peace?" I murmur (Baz made us watch the show a year or so ago. I actually enjoyed it a lot more than I thought I would). Baz bends down to press a kiss to my shoulder.

"Yes. It's also what I want to walk down the aisle to." I finally open my eyes, smiling at my ridiculous, history nerd fiancé.

"It's perfect, Baz. Crowley, I love it."

Baz is grinning at me, and the look on his face is Magic. Those quicksilver eyes shine brightly. His needle-sharp canines glint at the corners of his smile. I wish I had a camera-- this would make the most perfect picture.

The song ends in a sweeping sforzando, then slowly, sweetly drifts away.

"And _this_ ," Baz presses a button on his phone. I close my eyes again to get the full feel of the song, "This is what I want to dance to."

The new song starts, and I start to giggle.

It's a cover of _Rainbow_ fucking _Connection._ A gorgeous cover of it, sure, but I think this is Baz being a passive-aggressive gay shit.

"We're dancing to a song about rainbows?" I tease, opening my eyes again. Baz is laughing, too.

"Come on, Simon, it's perfect. It's like a big slap in the face to everyone we ever went to school with-- _Simon Snow is gay because this guy, right here!_ " I laugh harder, covering my face with my hands.

"I hope you realise I'm only marrying you for your sass," I joke. Baz nods solemnly.

"Oh believe me, I know. I'm only marrying you because you appreciate my sass." I grin, half-closing my eyes again to listen to the rest of the song.

"This is really pretty. Who's singing this?" Baz glances down at his phone, squinting a little to read the name.

"A bloke on youtube named... Joseph Vincent," he replies. I reach up to put my hands on Baz's newly muscled shoulders, tugging him down so he's laying on my chest.

"It's perfect, Baz. They both are. Have you been up all night looking for songs?" I feel Baz's laugh rumbling against my chest before I hear it.

"Maybe..." He says, avoiding answering. I'll take that as a _yes,_ then. I wrap the headphones around his phone and set them on the nightstand by my head.

"Then sleep. It's late," I whisper. Baz's eyelashes tickle my chest as he closes his eyes.

"I love you, Simon." I smile, tangling my fingers in his soft, silky-smooth hair.

"I love you too, Basilton."

 

 


	33. All That We Are is Excited.

**_Baz_ **

The wedding is only two weeks away, and I feel as if there's confetti in my stomach.

Si and I have spent three weeks going on Penny's errands, sneaking off, kissing at the tops of ferris wheels, eating ice cream, and practising magic. It's been amazing (if Fifth Year me could see me now...), but I'm beyond ready to take him to church, so to speak (we can't have the wedding in a church, as _one_ of us is allergic to crosses). I'm ready to slip the ring on his golden finger. I'm ready for the wedding night (I've been anxiously awaiting our wedding night since Fifth Year). I'm ready for the honeymoon, for which we've rented a beach house in the south of France. I'm ready to go from saying, 'this is my boyfriend, Simon' to saying, 'this is my husband'. I'm ready to spend the rest of my life with Simon Snow.

I'm laying on the couch, reading, Simon sitting beneath my legs, when the doorbell rings. Si goes to stand up, but I kiss the top of his head, closing my book.

"I'll get it," I say. Simon smiles up at me.

"Thanks, darling." Aleister Crowley. Have I mentioned I love it when he calls me that?

Grinning, I walk to the door. In the hall stands a rather bemused-looking postman, holding a large parcel.

"Delivery for a mister..." he checks the label on the parcel, "Mister Grimm-Pitch?" I nod, taking the pen from his hand and signing for the delivery.

"Thank you," I tell him, wondering what on earth could be in the package. The man gives an awkward wave.

"Have a nice day," he says, like the words have been drilled into his brain. From the couch, Simon shouts,

"You too!"

Trying to stifle a laugh at the startled look on the postman's face, I close the door. Carrying the package over to the kitchen table, I set it gently down next to a glass of icewater I got myself ten minutes ago and forgot to drink.

" _ **Open sesame!**_ " I say, pointing my wand at the parcel. The box springs neatly open, and I grin when I see what's inside. "Simon," I call over my shoulder, "Come and have a look at this."

Two suits lie in the box, perfectly folded. We ordered them online, and they look even better in person.

Simon wraps his arms around me from behind, rising on tiptoe to perch his chin on my shoulder to look at what I'm showing him.

" _Wicked_ ," he breathes, and I can hear him grinning. Resting my head against his, I pull mine from the box.

"Fancy a bit of a fashion show?" I ask him. Simon laughs, reaching around me to grab his own suit.

"You know I do. Which of us should go first?" I turn my head to kiss his cheek.

"You, thanks." Simon rolls his eyes, but he's smiling.

" _Fine_ ," he faux-huffs, "I suppose I'll do it." Turning on his heel, he marches comically into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. I sink into a chair, grinning to myself.

About ten minutes go by before I hear the rattle of the doorknob. I sit on the edge of my seat, staring expectantly at the door.

Simon steps out of the bedroom and the whole world stops spinning. The breath _whooshes_ from my lungs as completely as if he's punched me.

In a suit of shimmering, deep blue that brings out those diamond eyes, he looks like a god. And I _want_ him, more than I've ever wanted him or anything else in the world. My hands start to sweat, my heart beating so wildly against my ribcage I'm surprised he can't see it, like in one of the cartoons Mordelia used to watch. My mouth is bone dry. It feels like the night with the Crucible-- when the entire world disappeared except for that magnetic pull deep in my belly, drawing me towards that beautiful, ultra-human, beyond Magickal being that was, and is, Simon Snow.

"What do you think?" He asks. His voice sends me over some type of mental edge. Licking my lips, I swallow heavily, unable to tear my eyes from him. My thoughts (and imagination) race a mile a minute, full of nothing but Simon, Simon, _Simon._ I think I might spontaneously combust.

"E-excuse me, for a moment," I stammer out. Standing up, water glass in hand, I walk further into the kitchen, drape my head over the sink, and dump the cold water from my glass onto my head.

I think I'll just... stay here a while. Just long enough to get a goddamn grip. Aleister fucking Crowley.

Simon's in hysterics, laughing at me. He's doubled over, clutching the back of the couch for support.

"Enjoying the view, Pitch? Seems like you've got a bit of a problem, over there," he guffaws (I don't often have occasion to use that word, but Simon has officially achieved an actual fucking guffaw). Giggling, I extricate myself from the depths of the sink, flinging my sopping hair out of my face.

"Fuck you, Snow," I laugh. Wiping literal tears of mirth from his eyes, Simon grins evilly at me.

"I thought the point of dunking your head was to make you _not_ want to do that," he teases. I flip him the bird, grinning. Walking up to him, I wrap my arms around him, burying my soaked head in the crook of his neck and running my lips along the warm skin there. Being careful to keep my wet hair off his new suit.

"You're horrible," I say, unconvincingly. Simon's still giggling (at least he's gone from a guffaw to a giggle), his arms wrapped tight around me.

"It's why you love me, and you know it," he replies, "You're just lucky you've got yourself such a good looking husband." I grin against his neck.

"You bastard. You're lucky you're so damn pretty, Simon." His fingers push through my wet hair, bunching at the back.

"Come on, Baz, it's your turn. Go get dressed, and you'll see what pretty _really_ looks like." Laughing, I steal one last kiss before grabbing my suit and striding into the bedroom.

The image of Simon in that suit plays over and over in my mind as I dress.

He may be a disaster, but he's a fucking beautiful one.

 


	34. All That We Are is Golden.

**_Simon_ **

When Baz steps out of the room, I begin to understand why he poured cold water over his head.

He looks amazing in a black suit with gold decals. The colour lights a fire under his skin, turning him back into the tawny-skinned, apple-cheeked person he could've been if he hadn't been Bitten. Even his eyes blaze with silver flame. His towel-dried hair falls in silky midnight waves (his hair's always wavier when he doesn't blow-dry it). My jaw literally drops.

Baz tries for a sneer, but it falls short and turns into a grin. Those moonfire eyes sparkle. My heart beats wildly against my ribs, making my breath stop in my throat.

"Well, Simon, what do you think?" He asks, spreading his arms and doing a slow turn. I try to speak, but my voice catches. My throat is dry, and sparks of golden magic dance between my fingers. Hopefully I won't burn down the flat.

I try again to say something, but all I can think is Baz, Baz, _Baz._

With a devilish, debonair grin, Baz braces his arms on either side of me, caging me against the table. His lips are less than a centimetre from mine, his breath tickling my chin. I think I might go starkers before the end of this encounter.

"Use your words, Simon," Baz murmurs silkily (yeah, that's not helping in the least, Basilton). I swallow again, trying desperately to find my voice.

His lips are so, so close to mine...

"Aleister Crowley, Baz..." I breathe, not tearing my eyes away from his for even a millisecond. He really does sneer, now, but his eyes twinkle playfully. God _damn_ I want to kiss him.

"Do you like it?" His voice is low and teasing and I think I might _actually_ be losing my mind.

I lick my lips. Once. Twice. Trying to return any semblance of moisture back to my throat (and maybe trying to drive him a little wild, too).

"Like it?" I ask. My voice is still barely audible, but my volume control seems to be broken. "Baz, you look... _Crowley_ , Baz, you're like the sun." The teasing flirtation melts from his face, giving way to bashful surprise. I think he might even be blushing.

 _Finally_ , he kisses me. And it feels different from any kiss we've shared so far; it feels like the physical embodiment of the word 'love', of the word 'beauty'. It's inimitable and ineffable and I never want it to end. His hands are tight around me and my hands are in his hair and we're pulling each other closer, closer, until there's no room left to breathe, there's just his lips against mine and the warm heat of our bodies and the gentle hum of our shared breaths.

I think back to what he told me, all that time ago, at our Leaver's Ball. About me being the sun. I've always loved what he said to me that day, but now it applies, not to me, but to Baz.

Baz is the sun. And I am crashing desperately, hopelessly into him.

 

 


	35. All That We Are is Unlucky.

**_Simon_ **

Baz is working at the buttons of my shirt, still kissing me (eternally kissing me) when he murmurs distractedly,

"You know, it's bad luck for us to see each other in our suits before the wedding." I push my fingers more roughly into his hair.

"Bring it on," I reply vaguely, too busy concentrating on the funny tickle of his breath on the base of my nose to care at the moment.

Baz drags his lips down my neck, sending a shiver down my spine.

"If Bunce knew, she'd have a conniption fit," he says.

"That's nice, dear," I breathe, gripping his face in my hands and bringing his lips back up to mine. "What exactly are you getting at?"

"What I'm _trying_ to say, Simon," Baz breaks his mouth away from mine again, settling his lips on a point just below my ear, "Is we should avoid bad luck." I slide the suit jacket off his shoulders, placing it on the table behind me.

"By...?" I'm still only half-listening to him. Honestly, a rhinoceros could stampede through our flat right now and as long as Baz keeps kissing me like he is, I wouldn't give a damn.

"Well," His hands are in my hair and it's driving me wild, "I was thinking we should probably take off the suits. To avoid bad luck, of course."

I let off a breathy giggle that doesn't even sound like a noise I'm capable of making. I'm definitely listening now.

"Good plan, Baz. Bad luck be damned."

 

 

 


	36. All That We Are is Imminent.

**_Simon_ **

The wedding is three days away, and I'm finally done with my gift for Baz. Which is good, because I've got a lot to do today, and I can't afford to spend it placing finishing touches on it. I place the ribbon on it before carefully tucking it into a canvas bag. Grabbing a bit of toast, I leave the flat, walking quickly down to Baz's car (Baz and Micah are out shopping for a specific type of chocolates, and they're in Micah's car). As quickly as I can without breaking the law, I drive myself over to Penny's flat.

The wedding's almost here, and I've forgotten to do one massively important thing. Hopefully Penny can help me. If not... I don't even want to think about it.

 


	37. All That We Are is Improved.

**_Penelope_ **

"Penny, I need you to teach me how to dance," Simon Snow blurts out before I've even fully open the door. He looks anxious-- more anxious than I should think is necessary in this situation, but then again... he really is awful at dancing (which I tell him in the most loving way possible).

But then he looks at me with those big, pleading blue eyes and I melt.

" _Please,_ Pen, I know you told me I was hopeless last time we tried, but this is _important_. This isn't a Leaver's Ball, this is my _wedding,_ " he begs. I sigh, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.

"Fine, Simon. We've got three hours until the boys get back; let's see what we can do."

Grinning, Simon comes inside. I go to turn on some music while he takes off his things.

"Are you excited for tomorrow?" I call back to him. Two identical thunks reverberate off the floor as he slides off his shoes.

"Yeah. I can hardly sit still," he replies. I laugh.

"Simon, you can never sit still." He grins sheepishly, and suddenly I think I might cry. Because it's that same, bashful grin he's had since we were eleven-- since he was a scrawny little boy in grotty jeans and baggy t-shirts and I was a know-it-all with dyed hair and a ring tied to my finger with string-- and now he's here in my flat, a decade and change older and asking for dancing lessons for his wedding. Nicks and Slick, is this what it feels like when your children get married?

"Yeah, you're right. But, more so now," he's saying, like nothing could ever go wrong in the world ever again. Snakes, I'm going to miss him. I'm going to miss my ridiculous, dorky, sweet, idiotic best friend, who's been better than a brother to me all these years. I mean, he's not _going_ anywhere, but it... it won't be the same, will it? He'll have Baz, and I'll have Micah, and we'll see each other a couple of times a month if I stay in England, at holidays if I move to America. This feels like the end of an era.

Or maybe I'm just getting too sentimental over dance lessons.

"Let's start, then," I say, smiling brightly at Simon, "Let's see if we can make you a bit less hopeless."

We dance relentlessly. For most of the first hour, Simon, as I expected, mashes my toes more often than not. But then I realise I can't just teach him steps, I've got to teach him how to move to the rhythm, and things begin to improve. By the end of hour two, he's so much improved it's like dancing with another person. We dance through Simon and Baz's wedding playlist, switching up the song styles and speeds, but he only steps on my feet twice more and we only knock elbows once.

There's about thirty minutes left, now, until Micah and Baz get back, and Simon and I are swaying to a slow song. My head rests on his shoulder, and his chin rests on my head, and we're hardly moving at all. It's nice.

"Penny?" Simon asks. His voice is soft, and almost sad.

"Yeah, Si?" He hesitates before answering, but then sighs and drapes his arms around my shoulders.

"Will you give me away?"

God _dammit_ , Snow, I wasn't going to cry.

Simon seems scared by my silence, because he pulls away far enough that he can look into my watering eyes.

"...Penny?" He asks cautiously, voice so sincere and full of concern it sends me over the edge. I start to cry in earnest, pulling him into a hug.

"Of course, Simon," I say fervently into his shoulder, "Great _snakes_ , of course I will."

When he hugs me back, I can feel his shoulders shaking, too. Maybe I'm not the only one who's getting sentimental.

 

 


	38. All That We Are is Nervous.

**_Baz_ **

It's 1:30 AM, the night before the wedding. I'm alone in my flat (Simon's staying at Bunce's tonight), placing the finishing touches on the gift I'm going to give Simon tomorrow, when he calls me. I can't help but smile as I answer the call.

"Hello, Simon," I say into the receiver. "What's going on?"

"Baz... I've got a confession to make," he says anxiously. My brow furrows and worry curdles in the pit of my stomach. This can't be good.

"Yes?" I ask carefully, unsure as to where in the world this conversation is going.

"I'm... nervous." His voice is barely a whisper. For a moment, I imagine him sitting beside me on the sofa, those big blue eyes staring into mine. Then I remind myself he's not here, not tonight. Bad luck, and all that.

"Do you... not want to get married?" I ask, starting to feel nervous myself. To my relief, I hear Simon shake his head as he quickly answers,

"No, of course I want to marry you. I'm just... nervous about the wedding. You know I'm not good with that many people." Even though it's a very modest wedding, I know Si hates crowds, no matter the size. It's funny, he's friends with everyone and everything he meets, but doesn't like crowds.

Suddenly, it's like someone's switched a lightbulb on in my brain as an idea dawns on me. A slow smile spreads across my lips.

"I have an idea. Get ready for the wedding tomorrow, but make sure to do it with enough time to spare that you can meet me at the back of the marquee an hour or so before the ceremony. All right?"

I can hear my ridiculous, perfect fiancé grinning as he replies,

"All right. I love you, Baz."

"I love you, too, Si. See you tomorrow."

 


	39. All That We Are is Suspicious.

**_Penelope_ **

I'm standing outside the big, golden marquee, checking my watch. We left the house this morning perfectly on time. Simon managed to eat a bit of toast, but (for the first time in his life) refused anything else but a glass of water. We got here on time, I helped set everything up on time... everything has been going according to schedule. That is, up until now.

There's fifteen minutes until the wedding, and Simon and Baz aren't here yet. Which is odd, because I saw them both go into their respective dressing rooms, and didn't see either come out. They can't still be getting ready-- it's not a whole ordeal with big dresses, like with women.

So where are they?

 


	40. All That We Are is Otherworldly.

**_Simon_ **

I meet Baz an hour before the wedding, just as we planned. My heart stops in my chest when I see him. He's back in that black and gold suit, and his hair is wavy again (I convinced him to leave it that way for the wedding), but now he's got on a bit of makeup. Gold eyeliner sparkles from beneath dark, long lashes (they didn't do anything to his eyelashes, I just really like them), throwing spots of gold light onto his cheeks when he blinks. His cheekbones, too, have been slightly highlighted in a pale golden colour, making them stand out even more than usual. It's all very subtle, but somehow pushes him into an entirely new realm of superhuman beauty.

Baz stares at my face just as much as I'm staring at his. The little makeup I allowed them to put on me is similar to his, only in different colours. Silvery blue eyeliner, silver highlights. Judging by Baz's face, they must've done a good job.

Crowley, we're such a ridiculously good looking couple. Together we are silver and gold, the sun and the moon, a yin and a yang. At the risk of sounding cheesy, we complete each other. We are each other's other half.

Without saying anything, Baz tugs at my hand, grinning, pulling me towards a wooded area at the edge of the meadow where the marquee is situated. Laughing, we make our way into a clearing, where a tall man in all white waits for us. The priest. I look at Baz in surprise, the smile never faltering from my face.

"I thought we could get it over with early, and then it won't be so difficult to do the thing in front of people," He explains, nuzzling a kiss into my neck. I kiss the top of that soft, wavy hair gratefully.

"Thank you, Baz... this is... this is perfect."

We situate ourselves, holding hands and facing one another, in front of the priest. He starts to speak, but just as he does, I sneeze.

A blinding flash of golden light ricochets out from me, and then, just like that, we're falling.

 


	41. All That We Are is Missing.

**_Baz_ **

I don't know where we land, but it isn't Earth. Dark blue grass sways around our ankles, and two suns set in the cerulean sky. I stare at my soon-to-be-husband, utterly nonplussed.

"What the fuck did you just do, Snow?" I ask, trying not to laugh. Simon's still staring around us at this strange new world.

"I have no idea..." He says, and I can see him resisting a giggle of his own.

"Shall we continue?" Says the priest, who seems oddly unaffected by our sudden, otherworldly change in setting.

I look at Simon. He looks at me.

"Shall we then, Si?" I ask. Simon beams at me, taking my hands again.

"I suppose this is a good a place as any," He replies.

The priest clears his throat again, starting to speak.

"Gentlemen, this is the most serious and Magickal vow any mage can take. Do you both understand the responsibilities and maturity that a marriage entails?" When we both nod, he opens his mouth to continue, but is interrupted by a deep, thunderous rumble that shakes the ground beneath our feet.

The ground begins to undulate, rolling as if it were made of water. Then, something huge bursts forth from the blue grass, spraying red dirt everywhere.

Whatever this creature is, it's about a hundred feet long and covered from head to tail in slimy grey scales. A huge, gaping mouth turns towards us with a monstrous roar, the great maw lined with jagged green teeth.

"Run!" I shout. Just in time, too. As soon as I move, the beast's head collides with the ground where I stood not three seconds before.

We tear through the blue grass. Simon's got his sword in his hand, and as the beast makes another lunge for me, I shout at him,

"Sword!" Getting the idea, Simon tosses it at me. I take a swing at the monster following us, managing to leave a gash in its neck. Nothing deep enough to really hurt it, however. It just swings its head, roaring so loud my ears literally begin to bleed. It smashes its tail into the ground.

"Si, you've got to get us back!" I yell, tossing Simon his sword back.

"And if we could continue with the vows, please, gentlemen!" The priest shouts, hiking up his robe to his thighs as he runs. "I'm a very busy man!" Simon shoots the man a look.

"All right, Baz, I'll try!" Simon screws up his face, sending forth a golden jet of magic. Sure enough, a rip appears in the air before us. We leap through, still running. The monster behind us pushes its way into this world.

We're still not home. In this world, it's nighttime, and the stars are as red as droplets of blood. An ominous hissing issues from the ground.

"Keep trying!" I say. Quickly, I start shouting every spell I know at the monster, waving my wand over my shoulder as we run. Simon keeps opening up rips in the fabric of the universe, and we dash through each, the beast never far behind us.

"Your vows, please!" Growls the priest. Aleister fucking Crowley, what is this guy's problem? We're a _bit_ busy.

"I, Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch," I snarl between spells, "Take you, Simon Oliver Snow, to be my husband, to have and to hold, from this day _forward_ ," I grunt with effort as I catch Simon's sword again and swing it at the beast's head, "for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and--" I duck to avoid a wildly swinging grey tail, "--cherish always! Simon!" I toss him his sword again, simultaneously shooting a _Helter Skelter!_ spell at the monster. Its scales peel up in patches, but no other lasting damage is done. We jump through another space-time-continuum rip. Simon utters a long stream of curse words as his nose begins to bleed with the effort of world-jumping.

"Your vows, Mr.Snow!" shouts the priest.

"Give him a fucking breather!" I growl in response, "He's in the middle of saving your pathetic arse!" I hear Simon laugh beside me.

"Have I ever told you I love you, Baz?" He teases. I grin, using a spell to stab a spear made of hardened air into our pursuant's side.

"You might've mentioned it once or twice," I reply. Simon grins, opening up another world rip with a snap of his fingers.

"Boys, _please_!" Says the priest.

"All right, all right! Jesus!" Yells Simon, "I, Simon Oliver Snow," his nose is bleeding harder now, and so are his ears, "Take you, Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, to be my husband, to have and to-- sword!" He throws his sword at me, and I catch it just in time to deflect a blow from the creature's tail I wouldn't have otherwise have been able to stop.

"Thanks!"

"Cheers! Where the-- _fucking hell,_ " He stumbles on a tree root but straightens up quickly, "Where was I?"

"To have and to hold!" I shout, sending a _Ladybird, Ladybird_ verse flying at the monster.

"Right! To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish always!" We rip through into another world, and I see a sheen of sweat beading on Simon's forehead. My own magic is running dangerously thin, I can't imagine what his is doing.

"Riiiiiings!" The priest's demand turns into a shrill scream as we pass into a world that seems to have no bottom and begin to fall. Quickly, Simon zaps us to another world (this one with solid ground), visibly straining with the effort.

"Simon, catch!" I shout, tossing Simon his ring. He catches it deftly before swinging the Sword of Mages at the beast. "I, Basilton Grimm-Pitch, Give you, Simon Snow, this ring as an eternal symbol of my love and commitment to you!"

"Catch, Baz!" Simon says. I swipe the ring out of the air as it arcs towards me, sliding it on my finger as I shoot a jet of fire from the tip of my wand in the direction of the beast. I hear it scream in pain, nearly drowning out Simon's voice as he says, "I, Simon Snow, give you, Basilton Grimm-Pitch, this ring as an eternal symbol of my love and commitment to-- fuck!" He swears as our entrance to another world has us surrounded by glittering, deadly, crystalline spikes. Quickly, he zaps us out of it again. "To you!"

"Do you, Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, take Simon Oliver Snow to be your lawfully wedded husband?" Asks the priest, still aggravatingly unbothered by our current situation. Is he not human, or something? I mean, Aleister Crowley, I'm a goddamn _vampire_ and I'm at least trying to direct my terror into trying to kill the thing that wants to eat us.

"I really fucking do!" I shout, trying to aim another jet of fire down the thing's gullet.

"And do you, Simon Oliver Snow, take Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch to be your lawfully wedded husband?" The priest ducks to avoid a low, oddly rubbery tree branch.

"I do!" Simon yells in reply, finally managing to stab the beast deep enough to do some actual damage. The monster screams again as its head falls away from its body, which slams to the ground in a crumpled heap.

"Then by the power vested in me by the grand country of Great Britain, I now pronounce you--"

We are falling again, but the air smells familiar, and there's only one sun in the sky. I know before we hit the ground that we are home again.

We land, Simon and I piled on top of one another, the priest caught on a tree branch a few feet away.

"--Husband and husband! You may kiss the mage!"

 


	42. All That We Are is Loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! I just want to say that I choose to use "Oliver" as Si's middle name because that is what it's established as in Fangirl, and seeing as Fangirl both came out first and was what I read first, I'm going with its canon, not Carry On's. I've gotten some shit for this on the other website I posted this fic on, so I just wanted to make it entirely clear that I don't give a fuck what you, as the readers, think. I am the author of this fic, and thus the temporary god of this universe, so I'm saying Simon's middle name is Oliver.   
> Anyway, enjoy the rest of the fic!  
> -Lefty

**_Baz_ **

I cup Simon's face in my hands and kiss him. Roughly. One of his hands bunches at the back of my hair, the other grips the small of my back.

I kiss Simon Oliver Grimm-Pitch for all I'm worth. I kiss my husband, who smells like blood and sweat and spent magic. But underneath it all, smelling like Simon. My Simon, who smells like apples and cinnamon and everything worth living for in this world. The blood from his nosebleed is sweet in my mouth, and I think he realizes that I'm tasting his blood but he doesn't care, doesn't pull away. It feels more like the epitome of trust than any marriage certificate. As we kiss, a wave of Magickal energy reverberates out from Simon, sending golden sparks through the air. Around us, the Magickal Atmosphere itself seems to sigh. I don't know what he's done, but it's obviously a good thing.

We break apart, and I look at my watch.

"Shit, Si, we're twenty minutes late to our own wedding." Simon smiles at me, reaching up to brush my hair out of my face.

"Better get cleaned up, then, or Penny'll have a fit." Grinning like a maniac, I use the last of my drained magic to spell the dirt and grime and blood from us, to fix us back up into how we looked before our most current misadventure.

"Are you ready, Mr.Pitch?" I ask him.

"Born ready, Mr.Pitch," he replies.

 


	43. All That We Are is Married.

**_Simon_ **

I'm dead tired. Black spots dance in my vision if I move too quickly. My magic, for the first time I can remember, is nearly completely drained. Every bone in my body aches with the effort of standing upright.

But I'm happier than I've ever been in my entire life.

Baz hurries to the altar, and I wait next to a only slightly hacked off Penny. For a moment some of the nerves return, but I remind myself that I've already done this. While fending off a giant, evil worm _and_ jumping between worlds, for Crowley's sake. And Baz was right; it _does_ make me feel better.

Our song starts to play, soft and lilting and completely at odds with our hectic encounter. I loop my arm through Penny's, and she leads me down the aisle. As we pass the rows of seats, I look around at the faces, beaming at all of them. There's miss Possibelf, a smattering of students from our year, the Wellbeloves (minus Agatha, whose invitation was returned to us with _return to sender_ message stamped in red ink on the envelope), and the Bunces on my side. Baz's family, his _extended_ family, a couple of his Watford friends, coach Mac, and a photo of his mum on his side.

Penny and I reach the alter, standing side by side. Baz grins at me, and I beam back at him.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the presence of these witnesses to join Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch and Simon Oliver Snow in matrimony," Begins the priest, still with that same bored expression he wore throughout our entire misadventure, "which is commended to be honourable among all men; and therefore is not by any to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly, but reverently, discreetly, advisedly and solemnly. Into this holy estate these two persons present now come to be joined. If any person can show just cause why they may not be joined together, let them speak now or forever hold their peace."

For one eternal, tense moment, I hold my breath, waiting for someone from one of the Old Families to shout out, ' _I object!_ '. But the crowd is silent; no one speaks. The moment passes and I release my breath again.

"Who gives this man to be wedded to this mage?" Asks the priest. Smiling brightly at me, Penny faces me.

"I give this man, Simon Snow, to be wedded to this mage, Basilton Grimm-Pitch, and support them fully in their marriage." The priest nods.

The ceremony continues, much as it did the first time (though minus the mad inter-dimensional worm-beast). And then, after what feels like only a heartbeat, for the second time today, the priest asks us,

"Do you, Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, take Simon Oliver Snow to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

Baz's smile is soft and sweet, fangs and all. Those gold-lined silver eyes bore lovingly into mine. I feel as if my heart is going to swell from my chest. Or as if I'll melt into a puddle, right here on the altar. Or as if I'll spontaneously combust. Or possibly all three, in that order.

"I do," He says, so softly I see the audience leaning forward in their seats to catch his words. I'm grinning from ear to ear, unable to break that captivating silver gaze.

"And do you, Simon Oliver Snow, take Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

For a split millisecond, I am transported back in time. Back to every moment in my entire life where I've thought to myself, ' _Aleister Crowley, I love this man_ '. When I kissed him at Christmas, all that time ago. Right after I killed the Mage, when he was holding me and I was crying and he was calling me a courageous fuck. Our leaver's ball. Walking through Hyde Park together. Curling into his lap in mine and Penny's flat, watching that bizarre medical show they both like so much. Our first time sharing a bed. Ice skating. Drinking hot chocolate and eating scones and watching the rain pour outside. Watching him play the violin for me. The moments flood my head until it's filled to bursting with Baz. With Baz being beautiful. Baz being happy. Baz being sad. Baz being angry. Baz looking into my eyes, his eyes liquid and quicksilver and intense.

I can't imagine my life without him. Don't _want_ to. He is my sun, my moon, my stars, my centre of gravity, pulling me in. He is my everything, and I am so, eternally grateful to him.

There are tears in my eyes as I speak, my voice clear and perfectly audible for the first time in my entire life. I think I see Miss Possibelf smiling out of the corner of my vision.

"I do."

Baz's hand cups my cheek, his thumb brushing my lips gently. His gaze is soft and so in love, and he's just so beautiful in this moment I feel all the air leave my lungs.

"Then by the power vested in me by the grand country of Great Britain, I now pronounce you husband and husband. You may kiss the mage."

The crowd's in cheering uproar, but I ignore them completely as Baz's lips press against mine. I'm laughing and we're both crying and I think I might be in danger of growing wings again.

And even though this is our second marriage of the day, I could not be happier if I tried. Because Simon Snow is gone, and in his place stands a married mage, tall and confident and powerful and blissfully in love. Simon Snow is gone, and in his place stands Simon Grimm-Pitch, a grey-eyed vampire laughing happily in my arms.

There is no where and no one I would rather be.

 


	44. All That We Are is Feverish.

**_Baz_ **

In a massive scraping of chairs, everyone stands up. We're having the reception right here, in the marquee, so we'll need to clear the floor. While the service was going on, someone already started setting up the food and the bar. Originally, the plan was for Simon to magic the rows of chairs out of the way, placing them around the tables now ringing the marquee. But he looks so unsteady on his feet, his hands gripping my arm like I'm the only thing keeping him upright, that I have Bunce and Micah do it instead. As they slave away (for a grand total of ten minutes), people come towards us to congratulate us. Miss Possibelf, who's grinning and dabbing at her eyes. Coach Mac, who looks terrifyingly tearful. My father is too choked up to speak, just keeps patting me on the back and saying, "Good man"; Daphne is more of the same. Mordelia is jumping up and down, clutching Simon in a tight hug (I fend her off quickly, afraid Simon might pass out on top of her). Dr. and Mrs. Wellbelove shake Simon's hand (Doctor Wellbelove smiles at me, but Mrs. Wellbelove gives me a reproachful look. I don't think she's over the fact that I stole her daughter's boyfriend). The Bunces give us each tight hugs. People from Watford give us polite handshakes and smiles, wishing us luck.

Simon's fingers dig into my arm through my sleeve. I look over at him, using my free hand to gently knock up his chin.

"You okay?" I ask. Lacklustre blue eyes crinkle at the corners as he offers me a weak (albeit genuine) smile.

"I'm not sure... feel a bit like I'm about to pass out,"He murmurs. I kiss his forehead, pulling away in surprise when I feel his skin is feverishly hot beneath my lips.

Looping my arm around Simon's waist, I expertly thread us through the crowd. We manage to leave the marquee unnoticed, slipping out through a flap in the back. Immediately, cool air and sweet-smelling sunshine engulf us.

" ** _Have a seat!_** " I mutter, magicking a bench onto the soft grass. Simon sits down gratefully, and  I settle next to him. His head rests on my shoulder, both of his hands clutching one of mine. I test the back of my free hand against his forehead. He's still feverish.

"You're burning up," I say, more to myself than to him, pressing my lips into his hair. Simon, to my surprise, giggles.

" _That_ takes me back to Eighth Year," He replies, grinning. I laugh, but the mirth dissipates a little in the wake of Simon's obvious misery.

"Tell me what's wrong so I can fix you?"  Simon's dark brows furrow, and those blue eyes close like it's too difficult for him to keep them open. Worry tightens in my chest.

"I think... maybe jumping between worlds isn't something magic was meant to be used for," He says, not opening his eyes. With my free hand, I begin to stroke his hair away from his face. "I feel a bit like I've got the flu."

Pulling out my wand, I turn so I'm looking into his too-pale face.

"Hold still," I instruct him. Quickly, I cast every healing spell and cheering charm I know over my new husband (Crowley, I love the word 'husband'. It's the best one, in my opinion). Gradually, the colour returns to his face, the shine coming back to his eyes, and soon he's able to sit up straight again. I only stop when he starts giggling uncontrollably from the cheering charms, his skin practically glowing with a healthy golden light, golden sparks of magic twisting and sizzling between his fingers.

"Baz," he says between peals of laughter, "Love, I think that's enough." I tuck my wand back into my suit before cupping his face in my hand. His skin is still warm, but not in a feverish way. More like his usual ' _I'm constantly on the verge of literally catching fire_ ' way.

"How do you feel?" I ask, stroking my thumb along his cheekbone, across the moles under his eye. Practically purring, Simon leans into the touch.

"Better. Back to normal-- better than normal," He says, smiling at me and leaning in to brush his lips against mine. I smile, kissing him back.

"Good. Shall we go back inside, then?" Simon shakes his head, smile never faltering.

"One last thing." Before I can ask what he's up to, he grabs me by my suit lapels, pulling me forward and kissing me again, properly this time. I laugh against his mouth, wrapping my arms around his waist.

" _There_ you two are," comes Bunce's voice from behind us, "Why am I not surprised you snuck off to snog?" Simon and I break apart, and I groan, shooting one of my signature withering looks at her.

"Excellent timing, Bunce," I say, voice dripping with sarcasm. She sticks her tongue out at me, putting her hands on her hips. 

"The dance floor's all clear, _Baz_. It's time for your dance," she replies, her tone matching mine. Rolling my eyes, I stand up. Offering Si a hand, I pull him to his feet. I don't release his hand once he's up, and he gives my fingers a grateful squeeze.

As we re-enter the marquee, my breath catches in my throat. In the short amount of time Si and I were outside, the place has been completely transformed. Fairy lights line the edge of the ceiling, casting almost candle-like light over the white-clothed tables. The flower arrangements on top of the tables cast whimsical shadows over everything, making it feel like we're in a sunset-filled, wooded clearing. The dance floor is painted like a golden sky sprinkled with silver stars.

"And give it up for our newlyweds, everybody!" Exclaims a magically magnified voice from the corner of the room. Dave Tortcow, one of the only magickal DJs in Great Britain. He was insanely difficult to book; eventually, my father was forced to bribe him with money (and with the fact that the wedding would be for the great and powerful Simon Snow) in order to get him to work for us.

Applause breaks out around us at the tables and surrounding the dance floor. Smiling brightly at Simon, I offer him my free hand.

"May I have this dance, love?" I ask playfully. He takes my hand, pulling it around his waist before resting his own on my shoulder.

"You may indeed, darling."

Our song begins to play, and I lead him onto the dance floor as the whole room explodes into cheers again.

As we start to move to the music, I'm given a pleasant surprise.

Simon can _dance_.

 

 


	45. All That We Are is Épanouis.

**_Simon_ **

Baz and I are dancing so close together, I can feel his heartbeat. It pounds against his chest, the rhythm nearly matching that of my own. We're dancing cheek to cheek, my lips just barely brushing the crook of the long, graceful column of his neck. His lips are close to my ear when he whispers,

"Simon, you're _dancing._ " I smile, not looking up.

"Consider it my first gift to you tonight," I murmur in reply. I'm floating away on the rhythm and the soft lilt of the music of our first dance as a married couple. Thanks to his spellwork, I feel as if I could cast fireworks across the entirety of Earth's atmosphere. "Penny taught me."

Baz laughs, the sound rumbling against my cheek.

"I thought Bunce said you were hopeless," he teases.

"I was-- until we spent three hours practising together." Baz nuzzles his lips into my hair, his breath tickling my scalp. I lean into him, wishing we can stay like this forever. I suppose we can-- I mean, it _is_ our wedding night. We can do whatever the fuck we want.

Baz sighs contentedly, making me smile. Lifting my hand from his shoulder, I brush my fingers along the back of his neck, pushing them up into his silky raven waves.

"I love you, Simon," he murmurs, "So, so much." I lift my head to look into his eyes before pulling him down into a gentle kiss, still swaying to the music.

"I love you too, Baz. More... more than I could ever put into words." My husband smiles at me, kissing the tip of my nose in a way that makes my insides turn to mush.

"For once, Simon Oliver Grimm-Pitch," his voice is so low it's barely audible above the murmur of the crowd, "you don't have to use your words."

First Penny and now Baz; the pair of them are bound and determined to make me cry. In a valiant yet fruitless effort to keep myself from tearing up, I kiss him again before burying my face in his neck.

Too soon, the song is ending, and Baz is pressing his lips to my ear.

"I've got a gift for you, too, Simon. Stay right there." Before I can react, he pulls away, walking purposefully towards the small stage.

I make my way forward until I'm standing below him, watching him in surprised awe as he wraps his hands around a microphone.

"And now, introducing for the first time ever, your newlywed!" Exclaims the DJ. Baz smiles down at me, as cool and confident and utterly radiant as ever.

"Simon," he says into the mic, "You said that dance was your first gift to me tonight. Well, I suppose that makes this my first gift to _you_ tonight."

I can only stare at him, nonplussed. He smirks lovingly at the look of surprise on my face.

Then the music starts, and Baz opens his mouth, and everything else becomes utterly insignificant.

I should've known that a lifetime of playing violin gave the bastard perfect pitch. I mean, I've heard him hum songs, and every so often, when we're being as soft with each other as we're physically capable of being, he'll sing to me. But not like this. Never full songs. Never with music accompanying him. If there is truly a heavenly choir, Baz's voice demolishes it. His voice is soft yet raspy, sweet and true and _Aleister Crowley_.

At first, he sings in French. And even though I don't understand most of it, I'm completely captivated, unable to look away or move a single muscle.

" _On me dit que nos vies valent pas grand-chose, Qu'elles passent en un instant comme fânent les roses..._ " His voice mixes so perfectly with the background music, I can feel my heart doing acrobatic stunts in my chest. He sings and sings until he gets to what seems like the last line, " _Pourtant quelqu'un m'a dit..._ " And then he repeats the short song, in English this time. Those mesmerising starfire eyes never once leave mine. As his voice floods over me, I feel washed clean. Set aflame and reborn from the ashes. I could do anything; I could be anyone, as long as I'm still his. I don't realise there are goosebumps on my arms until the last bars of the song are drifting away.

Once the hand he's using to hold his microphone drops to his side, I leap up onto the stage, throwing my arms around his neck and kissing every inch of his face. Baz is beaming, his arms wrapping around my waist as he spins me once around.

"Thank you," I breathe, unable to stop smiling, "Thank you, thank you."

" _De rien_ ," Baz replies. He must see the uncomprehending look on my face because he leans in and kisses me slowly, whispering, "You're welcome."

 

 


	46. All That We Are is Bittersweet.

**_Simon_ **

Baz and I dance nearly every song together. Slow songs, quick songs, funny songs, serious songs... we dance until I can't remember what it feels like to hold still. The only times we're not dancing is when we're eating (sour cherry scones and champagne go surprisingly well together).

As the song we're currently dancing to ends, I feel a tap on my shoulder. Turning around, I see Penny and Micah standing behind us, grinning at us. Penny's looking beautiful in a long dress that's black at the hem but fades into a pretty dark green colour. She drops into a flamboyant bow.

"Baz, I was wondering if I might steal your husband away for a dance? I'll give you Micah in exchange," She says in a posh accent. We all laugh and Baz fakes a sneer.

"Oh, I suppose so, Bunce. But just this once, and don't get too attached to him. I'm rather fond of him." He winks at me, making me double over in giggles. Penny points an aggressive finger at Baz, trying to subdue her grin.

"Same goes for you, Basil. I'll be watching you closely," she teases. Baz laughs, and as the next song starts, sweeps a chuckling Micah into a dance. Penny takes my hands and we join in.

"I'm so happy for you two, Simon," She says. I squeeze her hand, grinning from ear to ear.

"Thanks, Pen. When Baz and I get back from France, we can start planning _your_ wedding." Penny laughs for a moment, but then her face falls.

"Simon... after Micah and I get married," She begins hesitantly. I know what's coming next, but I can't bring myself to speak. "Well... Micah and I have decided we're going to move to America, just for a year or two. Just to... just to try it out." She's talking like her throat is too tight for the words to come out.

Surprising both her and myself, I smile softly at her.

"Penelope, are you happy with Micah?" I ask. Penny glances over at where Baz and Micah are attempting to dance, a faraway, contented look glossing her eyes as she watches her fiancé.

"Yeah, I really am," she murmurs, looking back at me. Still smiling, I kiss the top of her head.

"Then I'll miss you, but Penny, if you're truly happy with him, then it doesn't matter how far away the two of you move. As long as you're happy together, I'll be happy, too." I mean every word. Everything feels so... so bittersweet. I'm insanely sad that my quirky, ingenious, hilarious best friend, who, if anything, is more deserving of the title of 'sister', is moving away. But I really am happy that she and Micah are getting married. If they're even a fraction as happy as Baz and I are, they'll be content all their lives. I want _everyone_ to find this kind of happiness. Especially Penny. And if that means she has to move to America, then, I suppose, so be it.

"I love you, Simon," She tells me frankly, a sad sort of smile quirking her lips. I return the smile.

"I love you too, Penny. I'll still be your best friend when you move to America, yeah? You won't replace me?" Penny shakes her head, her smile widening and her dark eyes glinting prettily in the dim light.

"Simon. You're my best friend-- _more_ than that; you're my brother. I could never replace you, Simon Snow. Not if I tried."

 

 


	47. All That We Are is Sugary.

**_Baz_ **

I've never sang in front of people before. I've played violin in front of hundreds of people at musical competitions, but never sang. Not even for my family, aside from lullabies for Mordelia when she was very small. I quite liked it, though I don't think I'll do it again. Not for anyone but Simon. My magic was feeling a bit depleted after fighting that intergalactic worm-beast, and after taking care of Simon's illness, but the adrenaline rush that always accompanies performing seems to have refilled my magickal supply.

As Micah and I walk back over to our respective significant others, I find myself unable to look away from Simon, thinking about his reaction. Wondering what other surprises the day will offer.

We reach Si and Bunce, and I wrap an arm around Simon's waist. Bunce glances back at the tables.

"It looks like nearly everyone is done eating the main course dishes," she says to Simon and I, "Is it time to bring out the cake?" Simon throws me an excited look. I grin at him, laughing a little.

"By the look on Simon's face, I'm going to say yes, Bunce, it is."

It takes around ten minutes for the servers to wheel the cake out to us. An excited hush falls over the crowd, all eyes on Simon and I and our cake. It's four tiers of chocolate (Simon's favourite), with brushstrokes of gold accenting the white frosting, decorated with frosted hydrangeas; it's utterly gorgeous. Together, Simon and I grasp the knife, extending it forward and cutting the first slice of cake. The guests cheer as we do, and cheer even more loudly as Simon and I smear frosting onto each other's faces. He and I are laughing, trying to avoid getting frosting on our suits but attempting to get as much as possible onto each other's faces. Everything smells and tastes like sugar, but I couldn't care less.

As Simon's hand dives in to deliver a fresh smear of frosting to the tip of my nose, I tilt up my chin, catching his finger on my lip and licking off the frosting with a smirk. To my utter delight, Simon's cheeks and ears grow pink. With a wink to Simon, I turn to face the tables, grinning.

"All right, come and get it, everyone!"

 


	48. All That We Are is Gifted.

**_Baz_ **

After eating too much cake, drinking too much champagne (Simon and I are both lucid but giggly), and dancing until our feet hurt, Si and I decide to make our escape. Penny booked us a limo to our hotel for the night (we'll stay there for tonight and fly to France day after tomorrow), and we call it in. It should have all our bags and things in it already, so we don't have to run back home and grab them. I say goodbye to my father and Daphne one last time, and then Simon and I say goodbye to Bunce and Micah. To my absolute astonishment, Bunce, after tackling Simon in a bear hug and kissing his cheek, kisses my cheek as well. I blink at her in surprise, a grin quirking up the corner of my lips.

"What on earth was that for?" I ask playfully, my voice so low that only she can hear. Penny flashes me a grateful smile.

"That's for being the best thing that's ever happened to Simon," She whispers in reply. Then, in a normal voice, she says to Simon and I, "We'll see you after the honeymoon, boys. Have fun!"

We thank her, then run up to the DJ to ask him to start our getaway song (which is _Voulez-Vous_ by ABBA, obviously). People start to laugh and clap and wolf-whistle as SI and I dance our way out of the marquee.

And then, just like that, we're in the semi-dark quiet of the limo. Simon's cheeks and the tip of his nose are adorably rosy from the champagne, but other than giggling excessively, he's not acting drunk (believe me, I've _seen_ drunk Simon. It takes a lot of alcohol to do it, but it happens occasionally; for a giant fluffball, Simon holds his liquor remarkably well). We hold hands, leaning every so often to kiss.

"Oh!" Exclaims Simon, breaking away from me unexpectedly. "I almost forgot. Your second gift for the night."

I watch him curiously as he reaches into a bag and pulls out a large, leather-bound sketchbook. He places it gently on my lap, watching my face intently to see my reaction. Not wanting to keep him waiting (or wanting to wait, period), I open the book.

I let loose a small gasp of surprise when I see the first page. It's a beautiful, intricately-detailed drawing of me, my eyes closed and my face resting on what must be Simon's shoulder. Written in gold ink are the words ' _365 reasons why I love you_ '. I turn the page to find another gorgeous drawing, this time of what can only be the back of my head, my face turned ever so slightly so you can see an ear and part of my cheek. _'Reason 1: your hair',_ states the gold writing. Completely in taken aback, I flip through every page, reading the reasons, studying the stunning charcoal drawings. _Reason 2: you're an insanely good kisser... Reason 3: your voice (God, Baz, your_ voice _)... Reason 4: your courage_.... I read on and on, some of them making my eyes fill with tears, others making me laugh.

"Simon... did you draw these?" I ask, lightly running my fingers over one drawing of our entwined hands. They're so realistically drawn they could be a black and white photograph. Simon blushes, his already pink cheeks darkening.

"Yeah, I did," he says sheepishly, "Do you like it?" I continue to stare down at the pages, utterly awestruck. I hardly ever think about the fact that Simon can draw; He hardly ever sits still long enough to do it. But I've seen his doodles, on corners of napkins and on the backs of receipts. I'm always struck by how good they are, but even they pale in comparison to these. These belong in a museum, side by side with DaVinci's sketches.

"I do," I murmur, "I really, _really_ do." I look up at him now, smiling from ear to ear. "Simon, this is _amazing_. Thank you."

Simon smiles, leaning in to kiss my jaw.

"You're welcome, Baz." I pull away this time, reaching into the bag beside me.

"I've got something for you, too," I say. Simon looks surprised, like he wasn't expecting a gift.

I pull out a much smaller book with a blue fabric cover the exact colour of Simon's eyes (I was in a fabric store for three hours searching for the right colour). It's a book of poems I wrote, each of them about a different moment with Simon. Big moments like the Crucible pulling us together, the first Elocution class we had together, the moment I first realised I had a crush on him, and the first time he kissed me, but smaller moments, too. Watching him sit on his kitchen counter while he watched a storm outside. The feeling of his head on my shoulder while we're curled up on our couch. The wild mess of curls that his hair becomes in the mornings. The way he breathes after he's had a nightmare.

Blue eyes flit back and forth, reading avidly. I watch him anxiously, hoping beyond hope that he likes the book. After a few moments, he sets it down, looking up at me. Before I can say anything, he wraps his arms around my neck, pulling me into a hug (Simon is the best hugger I've ever had the privilege of knowing).

"Thank you," he whispers into my shoulder. "Thank you." I wrap my arms around his waist, holding him.

"You're welcome, Simon."

 

 


	49. All That We Are is Kissing.

**_Simon_ **

The hotel room door (we booked the royal suite at Claridge's, and it's the poshest place I've ever set foot in) has barely shut behind us before my lips find Baz's skin. I kiss along his jaw, down his neck, to his collarbone, pulling off his suit coat as I go. Baz arches his neck, his hands burying themselves in my hair.

"Simon," he breathes, his voice raspy. I pull away to look at him. His eyes pour into mine before flitting down to my lips and back up again. "Kiss me," he whispers.

I do.

I kiss him, pushing him backwards, backwards. My hands push through the gaps between his shirt buttons, undoing them, running along the smooth skin underneath. Baz shivers, melting into the touch. Button by button, I undo his shirt until it hangs loose and useless over his shoulders. All the while we are travelling backwards. Which might be a problem because there are so many damn rooms in this suite. But I don't care where we end up, because Baz's mouth is open and warm and needy against mine and I've never wanted him more badly in my entire life (which is saying something).

We end up in the dining room, and I don't care. I pin Baz against the table so he's flat on his back and I am above him, still kissing him. His shirt has fallen off somewhere along the way, and his chest is smooth and pale and perfect, rising and falling with his quick breaths. Breaking away from his mouth, I trail my lips down his jaw to his neck. I drag my teeth along the skin there, grinning when Baz makes a small noise. His hands are at my shirt now, as I kiss the column of his neck, undoing the buttons until the material falls away. Then his hands are on my chest and my lips find his collarbone once more, leaving occasional marks as they travel down, down from his throat.

" _Basilton_ ," I murmur, pushing magic into the word. " _Basilton, Basilton, Basilton_." His name hardly needs magic-- it _is_ magic, all on its own. Beneath me, Baz whines, arching his back and tugging at my hair. My hands are at his waist now, my lips moving slowly along his chest and stomach, tracing the outline of his ribs.

"You are such... a fucking... tease," Baz breathes heavily. I laugh against his skin.

"Are you in a hurry, Basilton?" I goad, dragging my tongue along his sternum just to prove his point. His breath hitches in his chest satisfyingly.

"A bit," He gasps, making a fresh peal of laughter escape my lips.

"Lucky for you, we've got _allllll_ night." I kiss down his stomach as I speak. Baz's hands are like vices in my hair, but I don't mind in the slightest. He could do anything to me tonight and I wouldn't give a damn.

"Bastard." Baz is laughing now, too, between heavy breaths. It's incredibly fucking sexy. I grin, stopping in my advance down his stomach, letting my lips hover just above his pale skin.

"I mean, I could stop if you wanted me to," I tease, tracing a finger along Baz's chest.

Baz looks at me, silver fire burning behind his heavy-lidded eyes.

"Do what you will to me, Simon Grimm-Pitch, but don't you dare stop," he grins, and I feel myself falling in love with him all over again. "Aleister Crowley, don't ever stop."

 

 


	50. All That We Are is Tranquil.

**_Baz_ **

Later that night (well, early the next morning), I lie in a semi-awake stupour, staring up at the moon-stippled ceiling. Simon fell asleep in my arms a quarter of an hour ago, his skin warm and soft against mine. His hair and his ring glint in the silvery light filtering in through the window. I'm smoothing his hair away from his forehead absentmindedly as I hold him, my eyes at half-mast and the world a lovely, tranquil blur.

Simon whimpers in his sleep (I suppose nightmares don't pause for wedding nights). So I hold him. I pull him close against my chest, cradling him more tightly in my arms and murmuring,

"Shh... you're okay, love. I've got you. I've got you."

The golden face relaxes a little. And I find myself staring at him like I have done countless times before, feeling the familiar, fluttery pull in the pit of my stomach, the flush in my bloodless cheeks. The Chosen One-- _my_ Chosen One; my ex-supervillain; my hero; my husband. He is the most ineffably beautiful being on this Earth. In this universe, maybe.

I'm still just as stupidly, head-over-heels in love with him as I was when we were eleven years old.

"You awake, Baz?" He whispers, sleep-swollen pink lips barely moving. I nod, nuzzling into his hair.

"Yeah." He tightens his grip on me, legs intertwining with mine. I kiss the top of his head.

"What are you thinking?" He asks, words quieter than a breath of wind.

So I tell him. Dipping my head down so my lips just barely brush against the soft shell of his ear, I tell him.

"I'm thinking I love you, Simon Grimm-Pitch... and I'll carry on loving you for as long as we both shall live-- and beyond."

 

 

** _End of book 2._ **

 

 


End file.
